From Morning to Midnight

Georg Kaiser, Dennis Kelly

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2013
• Print ISBN: 9781783190133
• eBook ISBN: 9781783195121
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: European Drama
• Index: Literature

From Morning To Midnight, among the most frequently performed German Expressionist works, charts the life of a cashier who steals money from the bank and flees to Berlin. The un-named protagonist's bid to escape his middle-class daily life is ultimately frustrated. It is a popular piece in which Kaiser satirized the cheapness and futility of modern society. His hero, a kind of machine-age Everyman, searches everywhere for some kind of fulfilment - in commercial sex, in salvationist religion - but discovers through a series of nightmarish episodes that the world is deceitful and illusory. In the end, disillusioned and pursued by the police, he takes his own life. This new version by Dennis Kelly, opened at the National Theatre's Lyttelton Theatre in November 2013, as part of the National's 50th Anniversary Season.

1. The Machine

A small bank.

The CLERK sits at the counter, head down, working, serving someone. The ASSISTANT is at the desk next to him, writing. A FAT MAN sits on the sofa, catching his breath. An ERRAND BOY stands watching everything in dumb wonder.

The CLERK never looks up.

The person he was serving leaves, through the turnstile and out the door into the street, ERRAND BOY gazing at him the whole time.

The CLERK raps on the counter with his knuckles, eyes down in his work. The ERRAND BOY jumps, realizing it is his turn. Goes to the CLERK, hands him a piece of paper. The CLERK brings the paper in front of his eyes, looks, takes out a form, writes something, stamps something, pulls out money, counts it expertly into his hand, then again into the money tray, pushes it towards the ERRAND BOY then knocks on the counter. The whole process smooth, efficient, a machine.

The ERRAND BOY wakes up and starts scooping the money into a cloth bag.

The FAT MAN stands, with some effort.

FAT MAN: And so it is the turn…

Pulls a bulging leather bag out from under his coat.

…of the more generously endowed.

The LADY enters, silk and furs rustling.

The FAT MAN stops. Stares at her.

The ERRAND BOY stares at her.

They both stare at her.

She tries to ignore them and enter through the turnstile, though it won’t seem to budge. At last she gets through, slightly flustered.

The FAT MAN and the ERRAND BOY still stare. For a moment she doesn’t quite know what to say to them. She opens her mouth to speak, when suddenly the CLERK knocks on the counter, impatient.

Beat. The LADY looks to the FAT MAN inquiringly.

Suddenly the FAT MAN steps back and bows, grandly.

It is the duty of the fat ones to go last.

For a second she has no idea what this means, then she smiles and goes to the counter. She is about to speak when the CLERK raps again and holds out his hand.

She stares at it for a second as if not quite sure how to work this machine. Then she reaches into her bag, pulls out an envelope and places it cautiously into the hand.

LADY: Three thousand. Please.

The CLERK swings the envelope in front of his eyes. Looks, turns it over, then swings it back to her, rejected.

For a moment she is confused, then realises. She takes the envelope, opens it, pulls out the letter and places that in his open hand instead. The CLERK swings it back in front of his eyes.

Three thousand. Please.

The CLERK slaps the letter in front of the assistant and gives a double rap on the counter. The ASSISTANT takes the letter into the MANAGER’s office. The lady waits, not quite knowing if the procedure is working, but not really wanting or knowing how to interrupt it.

Waits…

Waits…

Waits…

FAT MAN: It will take a little longer with me, you see. The fat ones always take longer.

He suddenly laughs. Beat. She smiles at him, awkward, then turns to the CLERK, noticing that he is counting out coins.

LADY: In notes. Please.

The CLERK doesn’t look up or break his rhythm, but starts to count notes instead, putting the coins away with the other hand.

The MANAGER enters, round like a ball, letter in hand, the ASSISTANT trailing.

MANAGER: What the hell do you mean, she looks like an ange(1) –

He is suddenly stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of the LADY.

Beat. For a second he stands gawping like a fish, beads of sweat appearing on his brow.

FAT MAN: Morning, sir!

Pause.

Morning sir!

MANAGER: Morning, how are things today?

FAT MAN: (Patting his belly.) Things are rounding out nicely, thank you.

He laughs again, but the MANAGER has already forgotten him, moving towards the LADY.

MANAGER: I understand Madame would care to make a withdrawal from us?

LADY: Three thousand, yes.

MANAGER: Three… yes. Yes.

Yes, well, I would dearly, dearly love to furnish you with three thousand, however –

LADY: Is there a problem with the letter?

MANAGER: The letter? This letter? Oh, no, no, this is a lovely letter.

LADY: My bank in Florence assured me that this letter –

MANAGER: Oh, no, no, no, this letter is perfect, every full stop, every comma, it’s lovely. It’s a lovely letter. Bravo.

LADY: Then I don’t understand.

MANAGER: The letter was drawn up in Florence?

LADY: Yes, by my bank.

MANAGER: And it guarantees you monies in the amount of some twelve thousands, payable upon request at several banks, our humble selves included…

LADY: Banks in towns that I should be passing through on my travels, yes.

MANAGER: And of course you supplied your bank in Florence with several copies of your signature…

LADY: Which were forwarded as guarantee to my identity.

MANAGER: Yes. Well, we have received nothing, madam. Not a word, not a telegram, not a pip. We do not have your signature.

LADY: What? Oh, I… You mean I’m going to have to wait?

MANAGER: And the irony is it’s such a beautifully drafted letter, but…

Beat.

…we do need something a little more, well, real.

A TRAPPER enters, wrapped in scraggy winter furs. Waits behind the WOMAN, impatient, shooting her the odd furious glance.

LADY: Oh, I… I see. But I don’t know what to do, this is such a surprise to me.

MANAGER: Imagine how surprised we are, until five minutes ago we didn’t even know you existed.

The FAT MAN gives a sudden bolt of laughter. The MANAGER is surprised, but then pleased as the man laughs on.

LADY: But I need money.

MANAGER: Well, who couldn’t do with a little more?

FAT MAN laughs again. The MANA...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half-title Page
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• 1. The Machine
• 2. The Bourgeoisie
• 3. Epiphany
• 4. The Family
• 5. Society
• 6. Sex
• 7. Salvation