Six Characters in Search of an Author

Full Text and Introduction (NHB Drama Classics)

Luigi Pirandello

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2015
• ISBN:
  9781780011448
• Topic: Literatur
• Subtopic: Drama

The NHB Drama Classics series presents the world's greatest plays in affordable, highly readable editions for students, actors and theatregoers. The hallmarks of the series are accessible introductions (focussing on the play's theatrical and historical background, together with an author biography, key dates and suggestions for further reading) and the complete text, uncluttered with footnotes. The translations, by leading experts in the field, are accurate and above all actable. The editions of English-language plays include a glossary of unusual words and phrases to aid understanding.

Six Characters in Search of an Author is Pirandello's play about the nature of theatre and the problems of theatricality. Six characters, whose author has abandoned them mid-process, turn up at a rehearsal and demand to be played by the actors present in order to resolve their tragedy and become 'real'.

Translated and introduced by Stephen Mulrine.

SIX CHARACTERS
IN SEARCH OF AN AUTHOR

The action takes place during the daytime, on the stage of a theatre. There are no act or scene divisions, but the performance is interrupted twice, on the first occasion without lowering the curtain, when the DIRECTOR and the leading character, i.e. the FATHER, withdraw to rough out the scenario, and the ACTORS leave the stage; on the second occasion, when the TECHNICIAN lowers the curtain by mistake.

The audience enters the theatre to find the curtain already raised, and the stage looking as it does during the day, with no wings or scenery, almost completely dark and empty, so that they have the impression of an impromptu performance from the outset.

Two small flights of steps, one at right, the other at left, serve to connect the stage with the auditorium. On the stage, the cover of the prompt-box has been removed, and stands to one side. Downstage at the other side, stand a small table and a chair with its back to the audience, for the DIRECTOR. Two more tables, one larger, one smaller, and several chairs, are also downstage, ready for the rehearsal, if required. There are other chairs, scattered around left and right, for the ACTORS. Upstage to one side is a piano, partly hidden.

When the house lights go down, the TECHNICIAN enters from the upstage door in dark blue overalls with a tool-bag hung from his belt; from a corner upstage he gathers a few planks, takes them downstage, and kneels down to begin nailing them together. While the hammering is going on, the STAGE MANAGER rushes in, through the door leading to the dressing-rooms.

STAGE MANAGER. Hey! What are you doing?

TECHNICIAN. What d’you think I’m doing? I’m knocking in nails.

STAGE MANAGER. At this time? (Looks at his watch.) It’s half-past ten already. The director’ll be here any minute for the rehearsal.

TECHNICIAN. Look, I’ve got to have time to do my work as well!

STAGE MANAGER. Well, you can have it, but not now.

TECHNICIAN. All right, when?

STAGE MANAGER. When we’re finished rehearsing. Now come on, clear all this out of the way and let me set up the stage for Act Two of Rules of the Game.

The TECHNICIAN, breathing heavily and muttering, picks up the planks and goes off. Meanwhile, the ACTORS of the company, male and female, begin to drift in through the stage door, in ones and twos, random-fashion – nine or ten, presumably as many as are required for the rehearsal of Pirandello’s play The Rules of the Game, scheduled for that day. They enter, greet the STAGE MANAGER, and exchange pleasantries. Some make their way to the dressing-rooms; others, including the PROMPTER, who carries a rolled-up copy of the script under his arm, hang around the stage, waiting for the DIRECTOR to start the rehearsal. In the interim, sitting or standing in groups, they talk amongst themselves; one lights up a cigarette, one complains about his role in the play, another reads out some news item from a theatre journal. Ideally, the ACTORS and ACTRESSES will be wearing light-coloured, casual clothing, and this first improvised scene should have a lively, natural feel. At a certain point, one of the cast sits down at the piano and plays a dance-tune; some of the younger ACTORS and ACTRESSES begin dancing.

STAGE MANAGER (clapping his hands to call them to order). Right, that’s enough, everybody! The director’s here.

The music and dancing suddenly stop. The ACTORS turn to look out into the auditorium, as the DIRECTOR enters through the rear door. He walks down the central aisle with his hat firmly planted on his head, a cane under his arm, and a huge cigar in his mouth. As the cast greet him, he mounts the stage by one of the two little staircases; his SECRETARY hands him his mail: a few newspapers, and a bound script.

DIRECTOR. No letters?

SECRETARY. No. That’s all there is.

DIRECTOR (handing him back the script). Put it in my office.

He then looks around and turns to the STAGE MANAGER.

I can’t see a thing here. Let’s have some light, please.

STAGE MANAGER. Right.

He goes to give the order, and after a moment the stage right area, where the ACTORS are standing, is illuminated with a bright white light. Meanwhile, the PROMPTER has taken up position in his box, switched on his lamp, and spread the script out in front of him.

DIRECTOR (clapping his hands). Right, come on – let’s make a start. (To the STAGE MANAGER.) Is anyone missing?

STAGE MANAGER. Our leading lady.

DIRECTOR. As usual! (Looks at his watch.) We’re ten minutes late already. Make a note of that, if you will, please. She really must learn to be on time for rehearsals.

He has barely finished his reprimand when the LEADING LADY’s voice is heard at the rear of the auditorium.

LEADING LADY. Oh, for heaven’s sake! I’m here, I’m here!

She is dressed all in white, with an audacious hat on her head, and a little lap-dog under her arm. She rushes down the central aisle and hurriedly climbs on stage by one of the little staircases.

DIRECTOR. You’ve obviously made a vow to keep us waiting the whole day.

LEADING LADY. I’m sorry. I tried very hard to get here on time, but I just couldn’t find a taxi! Anyway, I can see you haven’t started yet, and I’m not on straight away.

She calls the STAGE MANAGER by name, and hands him the little dog.

Put him in my dressing-room for me, there’s a dear.

DIRECTOR (muttering). And her lap-dog next! As if we haven’t enough dogs already!

He claps his hands again and turns to the PROMPTER.

Right, then – Rules of the Game, Act Two. (Sits in his armchair.) Let’s have your attention, everybody! Who’s on stage?

The ACTORS and ACTRESSES clear the front of the stage and sit to one side, except for the three who are to start the rehearsal, and the LEADING LADY, who ignores the DIRECTOR’s request, and sits down in front at one of the little tables.

DIRECTOR (to the LEADING LADY). So you are in this scene?

LEADING LADY. Who, me? No, sir.

DIRECTOR (annoyed). Then get off, for heaven’s sake!

The LEADING LADY stands up and walks over to sit with the other ACTORS, who have already moved to one side.

DIRECTOR (to the PROMPTER). Right, let’s get on with it.

PROMPTER (reading from the script). ‘In the house of Leone Gala. An unusual room, serving as both dining-room and study . . . ’

DIRECTOR (turning to the STAGE MANAGER). We’ll use the red room set.

STAGE MANAGER (making a note on a piece of paper). The red. That’s fine.

PROMPTER (continuing to read from the script). ‘The table is laid, and there is a writing-desk with books and papers; bookcases and cabinets with expensive china and table-ware. An exit upstage to Leone’s bedroom; an exit left to the kitchen; main exit at right . . . ’

DIRECTOR (standing up and pointing). Now, pay attention, everybody: over there, the main exit – over here, the kitchen. (Turning to the ACTOR who is to play the part of Socrates.) You’ll enter and exit from here. (To the STAGE MANAGER.) We’ll have the inner door at the back, and put some curtains on it. (Returns to his seat.)

STAGE MANAGER (making a note). Right.

PROMPTER (reading, as before). ‘Scene One – Leone Gala, Guido Venanzi, Filippo, known as Socrates . . . ’ (To the DIRECTOR.) Do I have to read the actors’ directions as well?

DIRECTOR. Yes, of course! I’ve told you a hundred times!

PROMPTER (reading, as before). ‘When the curtain rises, Leone Gala, wearing a chef’s hat and apron, is busy beating an egg in a bowl with a wooden spoon. Filippo, similarly dressed as a cook, is beating another egg. Guido Venanzi is sitting listening to them . . . ’

LEADING MAN (to the DIRECTOR). Excuse me, but do I really have to wear a chef’s hat?

DIRECTOR (irked by the question). I imagine so. I mean, it is in the script! (Pointing to it.)

LEADING MAN. Well, I’m sorry, but it’s a bit silly.

DIRECTOR (leaping up in a rage). Silly? Silly? Well, what am I expected to do if we can’t get hold of a decent French play, and we’re reduced to putting on this Pirandello stuff – fine if you can understand him, but they’re written that way deliberately so nobody likes them – neither actors, critics, or audiences!

The ACTORS laugh. The DIRECTOR then gets up, goes over to the LEADING MAN and begins shouting.

So, the chef’s hat – yes! And beat those eggs! What, d’you think that’s all you’re doing – just beating a simple egg? Well, I’ve got news for you. Those egg-shells you’re beating are supposed to be symbolic!

The ACTORS start to laugh again, and make ironic comments to one another.

Be quiet, there! And listen while I’m trying to explain. (Turning again to the LEADING MAN.) Now, sir – the eggshell: it’s meant to represent the outer form of reason, emptied of its content, which is blind instinct! You’re reason, and your wife is instinct, you’re involved in a game, playing a part you’ve been assigned, and you consciously become your own puppet. D’you understand?

LEADING MAN (spreading his hands). Frankly, no.

DIRECTOR (returning to his place). Neither do I. Anyway, let’s crack on. You’ll like how it turns out. (Confidentially.) By the way, I think you should face about three-quarters on, otherwise what with the obscure dialogue, and the fact ...