Beautiful writing. Thank you for sharing the play. Am I the only one who reads this as a story about narcissism? I was disappointed by Vargas’ congratulations to Sonny at the end for that reason. Am I too ... literal? Not sure what the word would be.
After Chekov's gun is fired, if a story has any horizon beyond that moment, then the focus is on those who remain behind, who must pick up their lives and carry on as best they can.
Chekov's dick pic, in common with a real dick, is a more complex proposition, with a wider and more unpredictable area of effect, and the ability to resurface at any time, like a flesh-toned Excalibur, and spread more ripples. In the play it has the power to beget Chekov's knife, which is alluded to, and is quieter than any gun as it slips out of the darkness. It can destabilise social frameworks and create odd pairings where, for example, an adult friend your own age can end up having an intimate conversation with your daughter, while his emotionally reserved wife shares her thoughts with you in an unguarded moment.
In an of itself, it is as ridiculous as any picture of a penis. What it symbolises to different people can gather some truly dark and wayward momentum.
The play has an interesting dynamic – two tiers of prime movers – a pair of men on stage, and another larger group of never-to-be-seen women occupying some theoretical space elsewhere; the actions of each group influencing the other, then being recapped for the benefit of the audience.
The lines regarding parents being afraid of their own children brought to mind Battle Royale (which was first a novel and then a movie – I believe that it has also been adapted into a manga twice). Some people (I would be among them) believe that it strongly influenced The Hunger Games, though the author of those books denies this.
Battle Royale looks towards a dystopian Japan, where the youth are out of control and the adults have resorted to violence and terrorism to bludgeon them into submission. Every year a random class of teenagers is deposited on an island, fitted with explosive collars, and ordered to fight to the death. Some choose to kill themselves; some band together knowing that these unions are untenable in the long-term; a pair of psychopaths gleefully chalk up high body counts.
Tagged onto the end of the Director's Cut of the film, there is a dream sequence: A girl from the island is walking along the edge of an estuarial river with her former teacher. He was not a good man. The girl tells him that she kept the knife that another pupil once used to stab him. This was the incident that pushed the beleaguered teacher over the edge.
He tells her: “What do you think a grown-up should say to a kid now?”
It's such a sledgehammer line of dialogue - an adult admitting that he has absolutely no idea how to set a good example of what a responsible grown-up should be. It sums up the theme of the film so perfectly that I don't understand why it was left out of the more widely available theatrical cut.
Thank you for this. Not much of a play-reader, me. It is engaging. I love how actors and directors make a script come alive. Reading parts of it aloud helped. Men are so what do I want to say? silly? Lovable? Foolish? steady? there through thick and thin even if they have gone somewhere else? I think you captured the dilemma of being a modern man well- at least a certain aspect of the dilemma. I will have to re-read it to get a better sense of the children. The good thing about a script is that it's a sort of sketch- we see the situation through the lattice of the conversation. And the difficult thing for me is going past the oddness of the characters that the initial reading can create.
And that being said, the subject matter was painful. Ugly. No wonder the children were battered by their parents' lives. Each character is struggling with his or her own set of problems. There is love and loyalty between the characters despite the difficulty of their circumstances. At the end, the narrator, Vargas, stands. Alone. Sending out his gift of friendship and awareness of the bigger picture (which I just mis-typed as "pric-ture") into what he hopes is a hearing and hospitable space.
Every post, as I scroll down past Jacques Derrida's face, I am taken back to the 1980s when he was alive and my professor or giving guest lectures. It's quite uncanny to move past him to get to your latest envoi here.
Ah, this was gold, thank you for sharing it. I didn't feel like I was reading a script but instead, sitting behind Vargas and Sonny in their café, listening to them and being drawn into their lives. To me, the heart of the play was the pleasure of conversation - expansive and generous. You captured the fabric of the men's lives, particularly their pride in their children. I could see Sonny in his basement (I imagined him listening to 70s Prince). Vargas being rapt by the deep variety he perceives daily in Nina was very beautiful. My favourite line: "the intimate thing is everyday living". This isn't a criticism and it's a tiny thing but I wondered if CC was Vargas's ideal pin-up or when he came of age, it would have been a more 70s bombshell. I think it would be great somewhere like Hampstead (dream casting ideas - Sanjeev Bhaskar, Gordon Warnecke, Ramon Tikaram), Kiln, Park or Almeida but I think a site-specific venue which is actually a café could be really exciting. The promise "you will hear..." was fulfilled in wildly funny and very moving style.
Beautiful writing. Thank you for sharing the play. Am I the only one who reads this as a story about narcissism? I was disappointed by Vargas’ congratulations to Sonny at the end for that reason. Am I too ... literal? Not sure what the word would be.
After Chekov's gun is fired, if a story has any horizon beyond that moment, then the focus is on those who remain behind, who must pick up their lives and carry on as best they can.
Chekov's dick pic, in common with a real dick, is a more complex proposition, with a wider and more unpredictable area of effect, and the ability to resurface at any time, like a flesh-toned Excalibur, and spread more ripples. In the play it has the power to beget Chekov's knife, which is alluded to, and is quieter than any gun as it slips out of the darkness. It can destabilise social frameworks and create odd pairings where, for example, an adult friend your own age can end up having an intimate conversation with your daughter, while his emotionally reserved wife shares her thoughts with you in an unguarded moment.
In an of itself, it is as ridiculous as any picture of a penis. What it symbolises to different people can gather some truly dark and wayward momentum.
The play has an interesting dynamic – two tiers of prime movers – a pair of men on stage, and another larger group of never-to-be-seen women occupying some theoretical space elsewhere; the actions of each group influencing the other, then being recapped for the benefit of the audience.
The lines regarding parents being afraid of their own children brought to mind Battle Royale (which was first a novel and then a movie – I believe that it has also been adapted into a manga twice). Some people (I would be among them) believe that it strongly influenced The Hunger Games, though the author of those books denies this.
Battle Royale looks towards a dystopian Japan, where the youth are out of control and the adults have resorted to violence and terrorism to bludgeon them into submission. Every year a random class of teenagers is deposited on an island, fitted with explosive collars, and ordered to fight to the death. Some choose to kill themselves; some band together knowing that these unions are untenable in the long-term; a pair of psychopaths gleefully chalk up high body counts.
Tagged onto the end of the Director's Cut of the film, there is a dream sequence: A girl from the island is walking along the edge of an estuarial river with her former teacher. He was not a good man. The girl tells him that she kept the knife that another pupil once used to stab him. This was the incident that pushed the beleaguered teacher over the edge.
He tells her: “What do you think a grown-up should say to a kid now?”
It's such a sledgehammer line of dialogue - an adult admitting that he has absolutely no idea how to set a good example of what a responsible grown-up should be. It sums up the theme of the film so perfectly that I don't understand why it was left out of the more widely available theatrical cut.
Thank you for this. Not much of a play-reader, me. It is engaging. I love how actors and directors make a script come alive. Reading parts of it aloud helped. Men are so what do I want to say? silly? Lovable? Foolish? steady? there through thick and thin even if they have gone somewhere else? I think you captured the dilemma of being a modern man well- at least a certain aspect of the dilemma. I will have to re-read it to get a better sense of the children. The good thing about a script is that it's a sort of sketch- we see the situation through the lattice of the conversation. And the difficult thing for me is going past the oddness of the characters that the initial reading can create.
And that being said, the subject matter was painful. Ugly. No wonder the children were battered by their parents' lives. Each character is struggling with his or her own set of problems. There is love and loyalty between the characters despite the difficulty of their circumstances. At the end, the narrator, Vargas, stands. Alone. Sending out his gift of friendship and awareness of the bigger picture (which I just mis-typed as "pric-ture") into what he hopes is a hearing and hospitable space.
Every post, as I scroll down past Jacques Derrida's face, I am taken back to the 1980s when he was alive and my professor or giving guest lectures. It's quite uncanny to move past him to get to your latest envoi here.
A rat nibbling through a skirting board…I can’t get that image out of my head!
Reminds me a bit of Miller, the natural flow and the dynamism of it. Would love to see this in performance (not the above bit, obviously…). Thank you.
Ah, this was gold, thank you for sharing it. I didn't feel like I was reading a script but instead, sitting behind Vargas and Sonny in their café, listening to them and being drawn into their lives. To me, the heart of the play was the pleasure of conversation - expansive and generous. You captured the fabric of the men's lives, particularly their pride in their children. I could see Sonny in his basement (I imagined him listening to 70s Prince). Vargas being rapt by the deep variety he perceives daily in Nina was very beautiful. My favourite line: "the intimate thing is everyday living". This isn't a criticism and it's a tiny thing but I wondered if CC was Vargas's ideal pin-up or when he came of age, it would have been a more 70s bombshell. I think it would be great somewhere like Hampstead (dream casting ideas - Sanjeev Bhaskar, Gordon Warnecke, Ramon Tikaram), Kiln, Park or Almeida but I think a site-specific venue which is actually a café could be really exciting. The promise "you will hear..." was fulfilled in wildly funny and very moving style.
From laughter to sorrow. Yes, this play should be done in NY and in London. Good theatre.
Wow! I love this so much. Thanks
You haven’t asked for a comment so I’m just putting one thing. Insightful.