Plays One Page 14

  BETTY. You can’t …

  ENID. I have, Betty, I have. Bomb or no bomb I got round to thinking I ain’t waiting around for it, biding me time stuffing a crew of big-bellied boozers.

  IVY. Gawd Almighty, we got a true-life documentary on our hands. At this rate we’re all going to feature on Newsnight.

  BETTY. Carol, say something.

  CAROL. Enid, I think you’re very brave.

  ENID. Ta.

  BETTY. Say something positive. You’ve been watching too many films.

  ENID. You won’t talk me outta it, Betty.

  BETTY. I’m really going ter miss yer.

  ENID. You can come down and stay with me.

  BETTY. It’s not really sunk in.

  ENID. I’m going to do something that will change me. You do what you want but I want something more.

  BETTY. Huh, you don’t want much.

  ENID. Not really no. I just don’t intend to hang around fer me arms and legs to be blown off before I gets round to putting me life in order.

  CAROL. I think we should make a move …

  IVY. Have you got the car, girl?

  CAROL. Oh yes.

  IVY. In that case I’ll git me coat and come with you.

  CAROL. Tell you what, Enid, if you come with us, I’ll take you on to Bognor.

  ENID. Are you sure? It’ll make it a very long day.

  CAROL. Oh bugger the Sunday dinner.

  BETTY. And if we end up in Holloway, we can bugger the Christmas dinner an’ all.

  MASTERPIECES

  Acknowledgement

  I am indebted to Dusty Rhodes for seeing the film and letting me use her description of it, as published in the Revolutionary and Radical Feminist Newsletter, Autumn 1982, Common Ground Community Print Shop, Sheffield.

  S.D.

  Snuff

  Snuff is a film which first appeared in the States in 1976, so called because the actresses were actually mutilated and murdered in front of the camera – ‘snuffed out’. Many ‘snuff’ films have been made since then. Early in 1982 it was announced that the original Snuff film was being distributed in this country. Feminists protested immediately and the distributors withdrew the film but not before several hundred copies had been made. Women in Leeds’ ‘Women Against Violence Against Women’ group found several shops advertising and hiring Snuff. We protested. Members of the Leeds licensing committee and other councillors were asked to see the film. Many did, most walked out unable to watch the mutilation and murder scene. They demanded that it should be destroyed. A group of women from WAVAW and local press and television also saw the film. We were numbed with shock. This murder was done for the pleasure of men. The Marquis de Sade, the ‘honoured’ pornographer, said, ‘There’s not a woman on earth who’d ever had cause to complain of my services if I’d been sure of being able to kill her afterwards.’

  Dusty Rhodes (December 1983)

  Masterpieces was first performed at the Royal Exchange Theatre, Manchester, on 31 May 1983, with the following cast:

  ROWENA

  Kathryn Pogson

  YVONNE

  HILARY

  Patti Love

  JENNIFER

  POLICEWOMAN

  JUDGE

  IRENE WADE

  Shirley Dixon

  TREVOR, Rowena’s husband

  PSYCHIATRIST

  Gerard Murphy

  RON, Yvonne’s husband

  MAN IN STREET

  MAN IN TUBE STATION

  PROSECUTOR

  Eamon Boland

  CLIVE, Jennifer’s husband

  PROLOGUE, the Baron, the Peddler, the Consumer

  POLICEMAN

  TEACHER

  MAN IN TUBE STATION

  JUDGE

  William Hoyland

  Voice overs recorded by members of the Company

  Directed by Jules Wright

  Designed by Di Seymour

  Lighting by Nigel Walker

  Sound by Chris Coxhead

  This production subsequently transferred to the Royal Court Theatre Upstairs on 7 October 1983, with the following change of cast:

  TREVOR

  PSYCHIATRIST

  Bernard Strother

  Directed by Jules Wright

  Scenery by David Roger

  Costumes by Di Seymour

  Lighting by Nigel Walker

  Sound by Patrick Bridgeman and Chris Coxhead

  Masterpieces moved into the Royal Court’s main auditorium on 5th January 1984.

  Masterpieces is set in London. The events take place over twelve months in 1982 and 1983, and shift back and forth throughout the year.

  Scene One

  A restaurant. JENNIFER and RON, and TREVOR and ROWENA are dancing. YVONNE sits at the table. Male monologue in three parts: all played by the actor who plays CLIVE.

  The sound of Concorde landing. The dancers freeze. Light on the BARON.

  1. When I was at university, my one aim in life was to go into business and get rich quick. I was extremely ambitious and not about to wait around for middle-aged spread to set in before I made it. My enterprise, enthusiasm and hard work paid off. In the last few years the tax man has gleaned over two million pounds from me. I have always kept on the right side of the law and when I was first called a purveyor or filth, it upset my mother a lot, but ours is a perfectly normal profession run by ordinary nice people, not gangsters or kinky dwarfs in soiled raincoats. That is a ludicrous myth perpetuated by the media.

  We do sometimes lose stock in police raids, but we allow for the costs when building our stocks so, sadly, the consumer ends up paying more than he should.

  Profit margins are high. Our trade makes more money than the film and record business put together. It will be the growth industry of the eighties. Just as betting shops were in the sixties and casinos in the seventies. I sincerely believe, had it not been for the present repressive climate, I’d have received the Queen’s Award for Industry long ago. My mother? Well, she soon stopped crying when I bought her a luxury house in the country.

  The dance continues, then freezes. Light on the PEDDLER.

  2. I suppose it was about ten, no twelve years ago when the market for naughty underwear and sex aids really opened up. Funnily enough I was working in a newsagents when this mate of mine told me there was a vacancy in one of what is now a large, established chain of shops and he could fix it for me. Well, I jumped at the chance and being the manager of a sex, I mean, private shop, I’m never stuck for something to say at parties even if it doesn’t go down too well with the wife, know what I mean? The vast majority of our custom comprises normal healthy men. (Slight pause.) Oh, and women, that’s why our shops have carpets on the floor, women like that, makes them feel at home. We have an in-joke about getting our underfelt. But seriously though, we’ve gone to great expense to get an easy atmosphere. It’s just like wandering around a boutique. Of course we’ll always have criticism from the frustrated politicians and their pathetic fanaticism for censorship. Hopefully, though, the majority of the population is liberated enough to wake up to the fact that we sell marital aids which enrich people’s – men and women’s – romantic lives, that we provide the practical side to sex therapy.

  The PEDDLER exits. ROWENA and TREVOR sit. Enter CLIVE, the CONSUMER.

  3. Oh, I suppose it depends what you mean by pornography. Yes, I buy magazines, sometimes videos. It’s not something clear cut or mechanical, sex I mean. Everyone has fantasies, don’t they? And from time to time they need revising or stimulating, otherwise like everything else it gets boring. It’s simply a question of whatever turns you on. Let’s face it, alcohol and cigarettes can kill people, looking at pictures never hurt anyone.

  CLIVE takes his place at the table.

  JENNIFER and RON walk to the table and sit down. RON has been telling her a joke which has amused her. She is relieved, however, to be out of his grasp.

  TREVOR (to JENNIFER). I see he’s kept you amused.

  JENNIFE
R. Entranced.

  RON (to TREVOR). We were chatting about holidays. Have you two made any plans this year?

  TREVOR. We’ve sort of mutually agreed we can’t afford it.

  ROWENA. Might have a week in Cornwall.

  RON. Package tour. Often works out just as cheaply if not cheaper.

  CLIVE. That’s what I keep telling Jennifer.

  JENNIFER. Darling, I am not going on a package tour. As a breed, the British abroad are foul.

  RON. At least you can usually guarantee a good dose of currant bun.

  JENNIFER. They should all be shot.

  RON. Pardon?

  CLIVE. She is referring to her fellow-countrymen. We spent Christmas in Morocco last year. Never been the same since, have you darling?

  RON. Apparently the food out there is horrible.

  JENNIFER. The food is divine – so is the country. Only, for the rest of the crowd we went with, it might as well have been Margate. Do you remember all those hideous coach tours? – just like one of those office beano affairs.

  ROWENA. Mother, don’t be such a snob.

  JENNIFER. God, you must be joking. Who can afford to spend a fortnight in Morocco at Christmas? This was the privileged élite.

  CLIVE. At least you got your precious suntan. And enough juicy titbits to dine out on for the rest of the year.

  JENNIFER. Yes, do you remember that day …

  CLIVE. Not now, you’ve done it to death.

  ROWENA. How come Mum always has the monopoly on funny stories?

  CLIVE. Your mother has a warped imagination.

  JENNIFER. He means because I’m a joke.

  CLIVE (through clenched teeth). I did not mean that at all, darling.

  RON. We heard a good joke in the pub, the other lunchtime. Do you remember, Trev?

  TREVOR. I doubt it, I can never remember jokes.

  ROWENA. Bad as me, darling.

  RON. I wouldn’t say that.

  ROWENA. At telling jokes, Ron.

  RON. Oh that’s it, hang on. Two nuns walking through a forest, right? When a man jumps out on them and rapes them, one of them reckons, ‘How are we going to explain to the Mother Superior that we’ve been raped twice?’ The other one says, ‘But, Sister, we’ve only been raped once.’ ‘I know,’ says the first, ‘but aren’t we going back the same way?’

  The men laugh, TREVOR not as heartily as the other two. ROWENA rather hesitantly joins in. YVONNE doesn’t even smile, while JENNIFER laughs uproariously and rather disconcertingly so.

  CLIVE. The only one I know is about the nun who was raped but she didn’t mind because he was a saint. ‘How do you know?’ asked the other nuns. ‘Because he had Saint Michael on his underpants.’

  Same response only they don’t find it as funny except JENNIFER who laughs even louder.

  TREVOR. That’s as old as the hills.

  RON. What was the other one?

  TREVOR. I don’t know.

  RON. Yes you do, I heard you tell it to Frank.

  TREVOR. Oh.(He is rather abashed.) ‘Help, I’ve been raped by an idiot.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘Because I had to tell him what to do.’

  There is the same pattern of response.

  JENNIFER laughs raucously. YVONNE remains silent but extremely uncomfortable, wishing she could just walk out.

  RON. What’s your idea of an ideal date? She screws until four o’clock in the morning, then turns into a pizza.

  Response is as for the first joke.

  JENNIFER. I know a good one.

  CLIVE. My dear, I don’t think so.

  RON. Come on, Clive.

  CLIVE. You haven’t heard my wife’s jokes.

  JENNIFER. Don’t spoil it, there’s a dear. Now there was this vicar and the headmistress asked him to give a talk to the fifth year.

  CLIVE. Get on with it, darling.

  JENNIFER. Do you mind?

  CLIVE. Well you’re hamming it up.

  JENNIFER. How?

  CLIVE. Fifth year, first year, second year, what does it matter? It’s of no relevance.

  TREVOR. Let her get on with it, Clive.

  JENNIFER. Thank you, Trevor.

  CLIVE. You’ve not heard the end yet.

  JENNIFER. He won’t live to hear the end if you don’t stop interjecting.

  CLIVE. You’re dragging it out.

  JENNIFER. Now you’ve got that out of your system may I proceed?

  CLIVE. All right, if you think you must.

  JENNIFER. Seconds away round two.

  CLIVE (to the others). See what I mean?

  JENNIFER. There was this vicar.

  CLIVE. We know, we know. You’ve said that once.

  JENNIFER. You’ve ruined the flow, so I’m going to have to start all over again.

  RON. Let her get on with it.

  JENNIFER. There was this vicar who was asked to give a talk about sex to the fifth year of a school in his parish. However, when he came to writing the appointment in his desk diary he didn’t want to write sex as his wife might find it.

  RON (trying to be funny). Find what?

  JENNIFER (grimaces). His diary. So he wrote talk, at such and such a school, on sailing. The time came to give the talk and it was received very well. A couple of weeks later his wife met the headmistress in Sainsbury’s and the headmistress said, ‘Your husband gave a wonderful talk to our fifth year,’ and the wife replied, ‘I don’t know how, he’s only done it twice. The first time he was sick and the second time his hat came off.’

  Although the men laugh they are less inclined to do so. YVONNE smiles.

  ROWENA. Mother, trust you.

  JENNIFER. Just wanted to prove I could hold my own.

  CLIVE (flatly). Very adequately too, darling.

  ROWENA. You’re a bit quiet, Yvonne.

  YVONNE. Well I …

  TREVOR. Probably hasn’t been allowed to get a word in edgeways all evening.

  ROWENA. Don’t look at me. I haven’t been holding forth about woofers, tweeters, wattage and speakers all evening.

  RON (puts his hand over YVONNE’s). Still waters run deep.

  JENNIFER. How sweet.

  CLIVE. I’m seriously thinking of investing in a Bang & Olufsen.

  ROWENA. Oh no, don’t start Trevor off. He’ll be green with envy.

  JENNIFER (to CLIVE). What a shame you can’t seriously think of an investment in tiling the bathroom.

  YVONNE. How many men does it take to tile a bathroom? (Pause.) Three but you have to slice them thinly.

  TREVOR. Couldn’t you see your way clear to investing in one for me, Clive?

  JENNIFER. I don’t think tiles are the ‘in’ thing for stripped pine bathrooms.

  ROWENA. I think he meant the hi-fi system. He’s been on about getting a better one ever since I can remember – just a little boy’s fantasy.

  JENNIFER. I wonder what Freud would make of that.

  ROWENA. Who cares?

  CLIVE. Surely a social worker can’t dismiss him out of hand?

  ROWENA (unsure). Well … no …

  CLIVE. He hit the spot in lots of ways.

  YVONNE. Crap! Who’s ever wanted a penis? What woman has ever wanted a penis?

  JENNIFER laughs genuinely.

  Have you ever wanted one, Row?

  ROWENA. Er, yes, well, I wasn’t defending him, very outdated ideas, ha. You were saying you weren’t enjoying teaching much these days.

  YVONNE. Actually Ron said that.

  RON. Well, it’s true, isn’t it?

  TREVOR. Row’s pretty fed up with her job, aren’t you?

  ROWENA. Sort of. (To YVONNE:) D’you remember when we were at school, I said if it were the last choice on earth I wouldn’t be a social worker and you said you’d rather clean toilets than teach?

  YVONNE (smiles). Yes, high ideals of youth.

  TREVOR. I suppose some goddess or other with her lack of control over the inequality of the sexes drew you into the nurturing professions, synonymous with the feminine rol
e.

  ROWENA. You can laugh.

  JENNIFER. It must be very messy trying to shove the working classes into inappropriate institutions when they clearly don’t want to go.

  ROWENA. I can assure you I’m not like that, Mother.

  JENNIFER. I’m sure you’re not. I meant the concept as a whole.

  CLIVE. You’re as adept at analysing social work as you are at telling jokes.

  JENNIFER. Am I? How sad. I thought my jokes were really rather funny. (To YVONNE:) Do you teach secondary age, dear?

  YVONNE. Yes.

  RON. She hates it, don’t you, love? It’s the discipline especially.

  YVONNE. I’d like to get out of teaching altogether.

  ROWENA. What would you do?

  YVONNE. I quite like the idea of proofreading. You know, sitting in an attic all day correcting manuscripts.

  TREVOR. Or womanscripts as the case may be.

  RON. All those squiggly hooks and things would drive you round the bend.

  ROWENA. I don’t think I’d like it much myself.

  JENNIFER. Oh, it sounds quite appealing.

  CLIVE. You would think that.

  JENNIFER. Would I?

  CLIVE. You’re halfway there – round the bend I mean.

  JENNIFER (forced smile). Oh, don’t be mean, darling.

  CLIVE (forced smile). Only joking, darling.

  ROWENA. Is it all the preparatory work that’s getting you down?

  YVONNE (clearly doesn’t want to talk about it). Yes, yes, everything.

  RON. Come on, Yvonne. It’s not that. You’ve always enjoyed teaching. It’s the boys, isn’t it?

  YVONNE. Ron.

  RON (wants to explain his wife’s unsociable behaviour). I don’t know if you’re acquainted with adolescents today, but controlling them is damn near impossible.

  ROWENA. I can imagine. I have nightmares about a couple of lads on my case load, but en masse I think I’d freak out.

  TREVOR. Oh yeah? You’ve got a couple of headcases, but put you in front of a class of nubile sixteen-year-old boys and they’d have trouble controlling you.

  JENNIFER. Ah ha, my daughter has another side to her.