Wakey Wakey

Will Eno

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2017
• Print ISBN: 9781786821645
• eBook ISBN: 9781786821652
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: American Drama
• Index: Literature

This funny, moving, and thought-provoking new play, written and directed by Lucille Lortel and Obie Award-winner Will Eno, challenges the notion of what really matters and recognizes the importance of life's simple pleasures. (All of which might sound dreary, but there's a chance this will be a really good experience.)

HOUSE LIGHTS GO SLOWLY TO HALF, AND THEN FADE OUT TO BLACK.

HARD LIGHTS UP. Perhaps LED light, so there’s no fade up or down. GUY is lying face-down on the stage in pajama pants, pulled up to his knees, with no shirt. After a moment, he lifts his head.

GUY:Is it now? (Brief pause.) I thought I had more time.

HARD LIGHTS OUT.

SOUND: MUZAC plays, as in a “technical difficulties” moment. The initial production used “Spanish Flea” by Herb Alpert.

After a few moments, maybe 2 or 3 seconds:

PROJECTION: A projection that reads “No Applause” blinks on the back wall. As quickly as possible, music drops out,

HARD LIGHTS BACK UP, and we see GUY, dressed in a suit jacket, a dress shirt, no tie, and pajama pants. He is sitting in a wheelchair.

GUY:(Quietly, to himself.) Wow, that was quick. (To AUDIENCE.) This was, what’s the best way to say it, this was supposed to be something else. This was going to be a whole different thing.

Very brief pause.

But, you know, tick tock, tick tock. (Brief pause.) That’s the sound of a clock, for you youngsters.

I see some familiar faces, out there. Or, to be honest, I see some recognizable shapes. (Very brief pause.) I don’t see those things, to be honest. I hope you’re there, I think you are.

I’m starting to adjust a little, here. The iris, or whatever part that is, is, you know, starting to adjust. Hello, world.

He points at someone in the audience. As if he’s saying, in a very low-key way, “Hey, I know this guy.” A sort of eerie moment, as he continues pointing, for too long. He then slowly stops, and looks away for a moment, without a discernible expression. Brief pause. Easily and lightly and briskly, to the person he was pointing at:

Sorry, that came off as sort of menacing. I just meant it as a reminder. A friendly reminder that, what? A reminder that some day, perhaps, when you least expect it, someone in a theater is going to point at you. Hi.

He looks at the boxes and around the stage.

Cardboard boxes. This is all from before. There’s always this whole other world, isn’t there. Desk drawers full of notes and sketches. The secret plans and ideas of people who time ran out on. Over a hundred thousand people died today. When we try to think about that, we probably forget that a hundred thousand people died yesterday. And a hundred thousand the day before that. There are a hundred thousand people who’ve been dead for three days. The coffee cakes and casseroles from friends are slowly disappearing; the families and loved ones, heading back to work, returning the odd phone call. People are plodding along, in the face of such total… Oh, but we’re not here to mope, right? We’re here to listen to music and drink some grape juice, maybe get a free T-shirt. We’re here to say good-bye, of course – there’s always someone or something to say good-bye to, and it’s important to honor the people whose shoulders we stood upon and fell asleep against. So, yes, we’re here to say good-bye and maybe hopefully also get better at saying hello. To celebrate Life, if that doesn’t sound too passive-aggressive. (Very brief pause.) Or, I don’t know, what do I know – I was asleep in my PJ’s five minutes ago. Three minutes, 55 seconds, to be exact (NOTE: or whatever this time actually is). Sorry, I don’t know exactly what to say to you. (Very brief pause.) I wonder how you hear that, how that strikes you? What do you make of the fact that this event, painstakingly scripted, rehearsed, designed, and directed, features someone saying, “I don’t know exactly what to say to you.” (Brief pause.) I hope you’ll receive that in the humble and hopeful spirit it was offered in. I know, I know – Intentions. Them and a cup of coffee won’t get you five cents at the zoo, or however that goes.

Whatever the reality, I hope we can agree that: here we are. People talk about matters of Life and Death. But it’s really just Life, isn’t it? When you think about it

Pause.

A joke would be good, right around here. (To himself.) A joke would be so funny right now.

Pause.

SOUND: A very distant siren that seems to pass outside the theater.

GUY:Oh my God, perfect – did you hear? The siren? Did you just… (Very brief pause.) I guess it’s gone. Was it a police car or an ambulance? You know? They’re coming for you, but what are they coming to do? It’s all coming, and at very high speed, but is it good news or bad? If you don’t know the answer, I won’t ruin it for you.

But so what are we here for? I don’t mean that in the big way. Just, you know, right here. You’re going to be in this room for a little over three hours – what do you want to have happen? What do you want to feel? Joy? Relief? A sense that those who are gone have been honored and made present? A sense that those who are here have been given strength for the journey ahead? If you just think of this as a dry place to eat while you plan your next move, or somewhere where you might find a pen on the floor, you probably won’t be too disappointed. However you think of it, right now, is probably how you’ll think of it when it’s over. And, whoever you are, you know, out in the lobby or commuting to work, that’s who you’ll be on your deathbed. So, push yourself, a little. And, go easy on yourself, a little. Time is your friend and time is your enemy. We can choose which, for a while. This isn’t three hours, by the way. It probably won’t even be one. I just said that to make life more exciting. Now you’ve suddenly got two free hours to do whatever you want with. Hooray! Call up the grandkids. Have sex with the wrong person. Just… enjoy. (Brief pause.) This was originally going to be something else. I don’t know what it is, now. Maybe it’s something called “Elegy for the Eulogist,” or something sad and circular with a lot of l’s and g’s in it like that.

Anyway, let’s proceed. You should all have some 3D glasses in a pouch on the side of your seat. (Brief pause.) That’s another joke. If there’s a pouch on the side of your seat, I don’t know what it is and I certainly wouldn’t put your hand in there.

(Very brief pause. Referring to himself being seen in some kind of 3D technology.) Can you imagine? The, you know… (In a very small gesture, he mimes putting on some glasses.)

He waves his arms around a little, as if he’s being seen in 3D. Movements that look as if he’s underwater, or in slow-motion, for example. This could be slightly beautiful and eerie, for a second.

“Whoa! It’s almost like he’s right here in the room with us.”

He continues with the movement, for a few seconds more. Maybe one particular movement, toward the end of the above line, causes him some pain. Brief pause.

Did I seem real?

He reaches to rub his back.

Ooh, I think I did something funny. Not “Funny – ha-ha,” but more “Funny – I injured my back.” Sorry.

He rings the bell that’s attached to the wheelchair.

(Toward backstage.) Hello? (Brief pause. Explaining the bell.) This is good for when the throat gets dry.

But why don’t we keep going.

He takes some index cards (20 or 30), held together with a rubber band, out of the pocket on the wheelchair. Looks at the card that’s on the top of the stack.

I probably don’t need these. They’re sort of a crutch, but…. (He reads.) “Try to create a respectful mood, but one in which there is joy and light.” Oops. I don’t know if I’ve been doing that. Although, a...

Table of contents

• Cover
• About the Author
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Characters
• Chapter
• By the same author