Mojo (NHB Modern Plays)

Jez Butterworth

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781780012742
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

A slick and violent black comedy set in the Soho clubland of the 1950s. The hit debut play from the author of Jerusalem. In the seedy gangster underworld of the rock'n'roll scene, club owners fight for control of Johnny Silver, the latest young sensation. First premiered at the Royal Court in 1995, Mojo won the Laurence Olivier Award for Best New Comedy and earned writer Jez Butterworth the George Devine Award and Evening Standard Theatre Award for Most Promising Playwright. It was revived at the Harold Pinter Theatre, London in 2013 with a cast comprising of Brendan Coyle, Rupert Grint, Tom Rhys Harries, Daniel Mays, Colin Morgan and Ben Whishaw.

'the verbal menace of Harold Pinter [meets] the physical violence of Quentin Tarantino' The Times

'a fabulous play... original, vibrant, gloriously entertaining' The Arts Desk

'Beckett on speed, savagely funny, in fast forward, with no time to wait for Godot' Observer

ACT ONE

Scene One

Upstairs at the Atlantic. SILVER JOHNNY stands alone. We hear the drums, the thudding bass, the screams from the club below. SILVER JOHNNY does steps by himself, tight, menacing, explosive, like a boxer in the seconds before a fight. A low distorted voice announces the act, the girls scream, but he keeps them waiting. The music rises, faster, louder. It reaches its height, SILVER JOHNNY stands at the top of the steel staircase. When the moment comes, he vaults into the stairwell and vanishes, enveloped by sound.

The drums pound on in the blackout. Suddenly they stop and the next second we are back upstairs at the Atlantic, after the show. SWEETS and POTTS are sitting at a table. There is a pot of tea on the table with three pretty cups, on a tray. The door to the back room is shut.

SWEETS. Is that brewed?

POTTS. Four minutes.

SWEETS. You want a pill?

POTTS. My piss is black.

SWEETS. It’s the white ones. Don’t eat no more of the white ones. (Pause.) So where is he sitting?

POTTS. Who?

SWEETS. Mr Ross.

POTTS. He’s on the couch.

SWEETS. Right.

POTTS. Mr Ross is on the couch.

SWEETS. Good. How is he?

POTTS. What?

SWEETS. Good mood, bad mood, quiet, jolly, upfront, offhand. Paint me a picture.

POTTS. Tan suit. No tie. Penny loafers. No tassle.

SWEETS. Does he look flush?

POTTS. He’s Mr Ross.

SWEETS. Absolutely.

POTTS. He’s a flush man.

SWEETS. Naturally.

POTTS. Ten-guinea Baltimore loafers. Suit sweat a year for you couldn’t buy. Shirt undone. Tanned like a darkie. Yes he looks flush.

SWEETS. Ten-guinea Baltimores? Fuck me briefly.

POTTS. Penny. No tassle.

SWEETS. They’re talking about it aren’t they… (Pause.) Okay. Okay. So where’s Ezra?

POTTS. Ezra’s at the desk, but he’s not in his chair. He’s round here to one side.

SWEETS. The Mr Ross side or the miles-away side?

POTTS. Round here to the side on the poochy stool.

SWEETS. Poochy stool. Good.

POTTS. Sit behind the desk it’s like I’m the man. Like I’m trying to big you out. Sit round the side on the poochy stool, Hey Presto, we’re all a circle.

SWEETS. Okay. Okay. So where’s the kid?

POTTS. Couch.

SWEETS. Couch. Good.

POTTS. On the couch with Mr Ross.

SWEETS. Exactly. Let him see the merchandise.

They sit there, waiting for the tea to brew.

You know Beryl? She goes to me tonight, she goes, ‘When Silver Johnny sings the song my pussyhair stands up.’

POTTS. Relax.

SWEETS. I know. I know. Her pussyhair.

POTTS. We just sit here.

SWEETS. I know. Her fucking minge. Her fur. It stands up.

POTTS. I see these girls. It’s voodoo. Shaking it like they hate it. Like they hate themselves for it.

SWEETS. In the alley. ‘Get it out,’ she says. ‘Get it out I’ll play a tune on it…’

POTTS. One day he’s asking his mum can he cross the road the next he’s got grown women queueing up to suck his winkle.

SWEETS. Seventeen. Child.

POTTS. These girls. They shit when he sings.

SWEETS. Exactly. (Beat.) What?

POTTS. Mickey knows. They shit. He seen it.

SWEETS. They what?

POTTS. It’s a sex act. It’s sexual.

SWEETS. Hold it. Hold it. Stop. Wait. (Beat.) They shit?

POTTS. All over.

Beat.

SWEETS. What does that mean?

POTTS. Means they have no control in front of a shiny-suited child. Sad fucking world. The end. I’m going to use this as a rule for life: ‘Anything makes polite young ladies come their cocoa in public is worth taking a look at.’

SWEETS. Good rule.

POTTS. Great rule.

SWEETS. There’s got to be rules and that’s a rule.

POTTS. What time is it? Okay. Good. Sweets. Listen. (Beat.) When he announces it –

SWEETS. Hey –

POTTS. When Ezra –

SWEETS. Hey. Hey –

POTTS. If he takes you aside… (I know. I know. But listen) –

SWEETS. Could be me could be you. Could be me could be you.

POTTS. Exactly. I’m planning. I’m… listen. He takes you aside tells you takes me aside, it’s not important. For me there’s no difference.

SWEETS. It’s exactly the same thing. Me or you. Exactly.

POTTS. Exactly. Good. The important thing is whichever way it comes, when he announces it, when it happens, act ‘Surprised and Happy’.

SWEETS. Surprised and Good. Good.

POTTS. Happy and Good. Good. The end. That’s four minutes. (Stands and picks up the tea tray.) What?

SWEETS. Absolutely. What? Nothing.

POTTS. I’ll be straight back.

SWEETS. Right. Good luck.

POTTS. Relax.

SWEETS. I am relaxed. I’m talking.

POTTS takes the tea into the back room. He closes the door. SWEETS lights a cigarette. POTTS returns.

So?

POTTS. So what?

SWEETS. So what happened?

POTTS. Nothing.

SWEETS. Right.

POTTS. They’re drinking the tea.

SWEETS. What about the Campari? Has the kid drunk his Campari?

POTTS. He’s sipping it.

SWEETS. Good.

POTTS. It’s casual.

SWEETS. Good sign.

POTTS. You know? Loose.

SWEETS. Excellent. Excellent sign.

POTTS. Ezra’s still on the poochy stool. But he’s moved it. He’s tugged it over in snug next to Sam.

SWEETS. Hold it. Hold it. Stop. Who?

POTTS. What?

SWEETS. You said Sam.

POTTS. Indeed.

SWEETS. Who’s Sam?

POTTS. Mr Ross.

SWEETS. Oh.

POTTS....