Liz Lochhead: Five Plays

Liz Lochhead

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2014
• eBook ISBN: 9781780014012
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

Five plays from the the makar (national poet) of Scotland, one of the country's best-known (and best-loved) living playwrights.

Liz Lochhead is the author of many highly inventive original plays, adaptations and translations, all crafted with her special blend of the vividly colloquial and the energetically poetic. This volume brings together five of her best original plays ranging over three decades and several, contrasting styles.

Her first play, Blood and Ice (1982), is about the creation of Frankenstein, and weaves a spider's web of connections between the literary monster and Mary Shelley's own turbulent life.

The modern classic Mary Queen of Scots Got Her Head Chopped Off (1987) retells the familiar tale of enmity between Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots, with Lochhead's own brand of ferocious iconoclasm and boundless wit.

Quelques Fleurs (1991) is a portrait of a marriage, both funny and tragic, and told through interlaced monologues.

The last two plays, Perfect Days (1998) and Good Things (2004), mark a woman's fear of turning, respectively, forty and fifty. In the first, Barbs, 39, a celebrity hairdresser, determines to do something to drown out the ticking of her biological clock. In the second, Susan, 49, sets out to find love the second (or is it third or fourth?) time round…

This rich collection of plays carries a new and candid introduction by the author, specially written for the volume.

'Funny, feisty, female, full of feeling… Liz Lochhead possesses the deeply Scottish qualities of independence, inquisitiveness and inventiveness' Carol Ann Duffy

GOOD THINGS

For Marion Marshall – and The Girls

Good Things was first performed by Borderline Theatre Company, in association with the Byre Theatre, St Andrews and Perth Theatre, at the Tron Theatre, Glasgow on Thursday 16 September 2004.

The production then toured to Eastgate Theatre and Arts Centre, Peebles; Barrfields Theatre, Largs; Howden Park Centre, Livingston; Lochside Theatre, Castle Douglas; Falkirk Town Hall; MacRobert Theatre, Stirling; Gaiety Theatre, Ayr; Arts Guild Theatre, Greenock; Carnegie Hall, Dunfermline; Eden Court Theatre, Inverness; Cumbernauld Theatre; Brunton Theatre, Musselburgh; The Palace, Kilmarnock; Byre Theatre, St Andrews and Perth Theatre.

The cast was as follows:

ACTRESS ONE (SUSAN)	Annette Staines
ACTOR ONE (DAVID)	Vincent Friell
ACTRESS TWO (MARJORIE, DORIS, et al)	Molly Innes
ACTOR TWO (FRAZER, TONY, et al)	Kenneth Bryans
Director	Maureen Beattie
Designer	Finlay McLay
Lighting Designer	Simon Wilkinson

Thanks to Eddie Jackson at Borderline for the imaginative and exceptionally extensive series of workshops on this script and to all the different actors and directors who contributed at various times.

Liz Lochhead

Characters

SUSAN LOVE, forty-nine played by ACTRESS ONE

DAVID, fifty-one played by ACTOR ONE

SCOTCH DORIS, sixty-ish

CHERYL, forty-ish

MARJORIE, forty-five-ish

WELL-DRESSED WOMAN

NATALIE, thirty-two

SHARP YOUNG POLICEWOMAN

HELENA, twenty-two
all played by ACTRESS TWO

FRAZER, forty-ish

ARCHIE, eighty-four

TONY, fifty-ish

SCRUFFY LITTLE MAN, sixty

FLOWER DELIVERY MAN

INSENSITIVE POLICEMAN
all played by ACTOR TWO

‘Scotch Doris’ is Scottish, obviously, and has a lot of strongly idiomatic dialogue, but – this is entirely optional – Susan could well be too, albeit with only a Scots accent on her perfectly standard English vocabulary and syntax.

The town, or big city suburb, could be anywhere, but the scene is the little charity shop on the corner – very much Frazer’s designer-palace – on three different days in one year.

There should be as miraculous and swift a transformation as possible between Act One, 6 January, and Act Two, Valentine’s Day.

Act Three should have a very different Christmas tree and decorations from Act One.

Possibly on one of the three days (perhaps Act One?), it is pouring with rain outside, and people come in from the outside wet. A cold dry bright winter’s day for Act Two would therefore contrast beautifully.

ACT ONE

TWELFTH NIGHT

Music: ‘Time is On My Side’ (Rolling Stones), loud.

6 January. A little charity shop on the corner. The rather spectacular Christmas decorations are more than half down but a last section on one side is very much still to do. There’s the A-frame of an open step-ladder and under it a full box spilling gorgeously coloured tinsel.

Stage right, on the back wall, there is a doorway to backshop with a door, currently closed, clearly marked ‘Private’.

Stage left, on the back wall, behind a single full-length front curtain, currently closed, there are two slightly angled, adjoining, tiny changing-room spaces, each with a curtain stopping well short of the floor, which shows the legs and feet, though covers the heads, if and when the long front curtain is open.

The shop’s front door entrance/exit from street is stage left.

FRAZER, a dapper man in early middle age and SUSAN, attractive, warm, likeable, youthful-looking for her late forties, stand near each other, poised. FRAZER is looking at his watch, waiting for the second hand to reach the twelve. He points at SUSAN: Go! SUSAN takes a deep breath, then –

SUSAN. Okay, what I’ll say, I’ll say: Susan. Friendship. Friendship and fun really. Nothing too serious! Susan Love –

(But you know, Frazer, I’m seriously thinking of reverting to my maiden name, only I’ve not used it for so long – obviously it’s not me, though what is? I mean, there could be pluses, well, in the self-esteem department? I suppose.)

My counsellor suggested it, that the time would come I might feel that taking back my own name would be appropriate – not that I go in much for therapy or counselling or stuff – but he was helpful. Definitely.

I thought, avail yourself of everything, Susan, everything that’s going – and it was part of a package at work, my friend Mel that’s just moved to Macclesfield with her husband, she recommended it, she said, ‘Susan, see a counsellor, I would, it’s free, there’s no shame, did wonders for me with that second miscarriage before little Benny was born when I just couldn’t see light at the end of the tunnel, he’s very good, he helps you get in touch with your feelings.’

I said, ‘Mel, I’ve got no problem feeling my feelings, I wish I could stop feeling them, I’m awash with the bloody things.’ She said, ‘I know but he helps you accept your grief and move through it, realise you’re not always going to feel like this and, well, put it in perspective sort of thing. You know… grieve and move on?’

I said, ‘I don’t know if grief’s what I’d call it exactly’ but – he helped! Oh, it was only the six free sessions, no way would I or could I ever get into that sort of self-indulgence and expense long-term.

And I’m fine. D’you know, eighteen months on, some days I feel quite excited. Exhilarated. A clean slate. Hence ditch the Love, though why should I change the person I’ve been for the last twenty-four years because my husband ups sticks? And it’s my daughter’s name, so I’m probably stuck with Love for the duration.

FRAZER (tapping watch, c’mon!). Sus-ann!

SUSAN. Right what? God… My interests? Macrame, origami and aqua-nooky!

Well… Music. All sorts. Stones, Sinatra, Springsteen, Sibelius. Ella, anybody good! Except folk. Folk or jazz. Can’t stand jazz, too jangly. Nor can I abide dance or house or rap. None of the stuff that our Stephi drives me up the wall with. Easy listening? I find that hard to take.

Love going to the pictures! Just about anything. Old black-and-whites on the telly on a Sunday afternoon –

FRAZER. Time’s up.

SUSAN. Really? That’s what I’m afraid of. Game over.

FRAZER. Why?

SUSAN. Past it. That’s me! Most probably. Face it, Frazer, I’m forty-eight, forty-nine in February.

FRAZER. Yes, but you don’t need to tell them that!

SUSAN. Why not? It’s the truth. This year I’ll be hitting my fiftieth year.

FRAZER. Is fifty not supposed to be the new thirty?

SUSAN. – The full half-century. How the hell did that happen?

DORIS, a regular, sixty-ish, known as ‘Scotch Doris’, sticks her head round one side of the changing-room area’s front curtain.

DORIS. You don’t look it, darlin’. Do you have this in a size bigger?

FRAZER. Perhaps ‘modom’ would prefer it in the aubergine? This is a charity shop, Doris! All one-offs, obviously. Duh!

DORIS sweeps the front curtain wide open and emerges. She looks a fright in whatever (much too tight).

Stage-right cubicle’s short curtain is shut, no legs showing in there, it’s clearly empty. DORIS’s ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Foreword
• Blood and Ice
• Mary Queen of Scots Got Her Head Chopped Off
• Quelques Fleurs
• Perfect Days
• Good Things
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information