The Pochsy Plays

Karen Hines

• Publisher: Coach House Books
• Year: 2000
• ISBN:
  9781770561724
• Topic: Letteratura
• Subtopic: Teatro canadese

Beckett meets Betty Boop in this trilogy of monologues by Canadian cult heroine Pochsy, a nasty, vapid, utterly charming vixen. In Pochsy's Lips, she's in the hospital, convinced she's sick because she's got a squid where her heart should be. In Oh Baby, she's at the Last Resort, on holiday from her job packing mercury. And in Citizen Pochsy, our little minx is in the waiting room at an audit from hell. In The Pochsy Plays, Hines remodels and melds traditions like stand-up, absurdism, clowning and neo-cabaret to create some of the most original and cutting satire to hit the stage – and, now, the page. Walk a mile in her distressed calfskin boots as the dark and ditzy Pochsy garbles ad slogans, self-help mantras and desperate grabs at meaning into a postmodern pastiche that is hilarious and harrowing, sweet and bitter at the same time. With extensive photos and musical scores, and an introduction by Darren O'Donnell.

Citizen Pochsy

Head Movements of a Long-Haired Girl

Performance History

Citizen Pochsy: Head Movements of a Long-Haired Girl was first presented in a public workshop by Pochsy Productions at The Space in Toronto in December 2002. It then premiered at One Yellow Rabbit’s High Performance Rodeo in Calgary in January 2003. Subsequent productions were presented by the KaBOOM Festival in Edmonton, Ruby Slippers and the Fire Hall in Vancouver, and by Magnetic North in Ottawa.

Pochsy: Karen Hines
The Musician: Greg Morrison

Text, lyrics and melodies by Karen Hines
Music and sound by Greg Morrison
Directed by John Turner
Stage design by Darren O’Donnell
Lighting by Cimmeron Eve Meyer
T-shirts by Peter Moller
SuperVision by Sandra Balcovske

At the time of publication, Citizen Pochsy is still touring, and will have its first full production at One Yellow Rabbit’s Big Secret Theatre.

Set

The set consists of four chairs in a row and an electric or baby grand piano. If the piano is electric, it is a Yamaha, with all the letters blacked out except the ‘HA.’ The piano is stage left, the chairs just off centre, to stage right.

The establishing props include: a standard banker’s box, a knapsack, a Starbucks paper take-away bag, a Starbucks coffee cup (grande) and a paper chit from a take-a-number roll.

The Starbucks bag contains three bottles of Spirit Water (Starbucks’ exclusive brand). The knapsack contains four emptied and crushed bottles of Spirit Water, a hairbrush, liquid paper, a pen, scissors, a few loose documents, antibacterial wipes, lip balm, a vial of aromatherapy, a number of crumpled plastic bags and candy wrappers, a cellphone and car keys (unseen: there only for the sound effect).

The contents of the banker’s box are more mysterious.

Costume

Pochsy wears a knitted black toque and stylish black leather boots solid enough for factory work. She begins the show in a fuzzy knitted white sweater-coat, with a rainbow-striped scarf and matching gloves.

As the show progresses, she strips off layer after layer, revealing first a miniskirt and a teal blue hoodie, then layered T-shirts sporting the names and logos of ‘Mercury Packers’ and ‘Lead World.’

In the crook of her right arm, there is a brilliant white cotton swab held with adhesive tape: the kind of band-aid you get when you have given blood, or had it taken.

Makeup

Pochsy’s face is ivory white. Her lips are blood red. There is a little purple around her very thick-lashed kohl-smudged eyes.

Hair: excellent, auburn and long.

(As the audience enters, there is a sound recording of Buddhist monks chanting. Once the audience is in, a bald man in a very hip T-shirt enters and sits at the piano. As he begins to play a sad melody, the monks and house lights fade. Soft, soothing lights bathe the waiting-room chairs. After a moment, Pochsy enters from the same place the audience has entered from. She is carrying a banker’s box, a knapsack and a Starbucks bag. She does not see the musician. The coffee is balanced on top of the box. She puts her knapsack and the Starbucks bag on the chairs and sips her coffee. She looks around and sees the audience. She puts the banker’s box right in the middle of the stage, downstage of the chairs. A soft-edged spotlight comes up about seven paces to her right. She moves into it, looks at the audience and smiles at them.)

POCHSY: Um …

A few weeks ago, on an ordinary day, in the middle of the day, I was at work and … I was feeling a bit discombobulated. I dunno, I’ve just been super-busy lately – just … super-busy – and plus I had just gotten a speeding ticket that morning and also I had just given blood and plus I had just switched over to a new long-distance program so I was kind of all, you know, (‘crazy’ noise) glagghghgh, and anyway –

(She takes a breath.)

I got paged on my break. To answer the phone. It was the government calling.

(Pause.)

They say that it’s random. Being audited. They say it can happen to anyone. At any time.

And I do understand that I am a citizen of this country and everything, but I mean, yes and no: (irritated) I never even vote.

(The spotlight fades quickly. Pochsy notices it fade. Another spotlight appears on the opposite side of the stage. She walks into it.)

I was talking to my friend at work the other day? Sari? And we were just talking about our lives, and our jobs, and me-e-eaning – you know, just coffee-break stuff. And Sari started comparing her life to this other girl we both know there: Angie, who is a … mmmm, oh, what is that? – a bitch.

And I told Sari not to feel so down. That Angie might have a better job than her – more friends, more job security, nicer clothes – but I said, ‘Sari, you’ve got kids who love you and who you’ve brought into this world and looked after. So what if you’re not as young any more? Yeah, Angie’s got a great body, but you’ve got the body of a mother, who has delivered two gorgeous, healthy children. What’s Angie done? Really?

And we both just stood there for a moment.

(She smiles and just stands there for a moment.)

Then Sari said, ‘I don’t have any kids … ’ (She rolls her eyes.) And I realized I was thinking of my other friend at work – Melissa!

(She sighs.)

(Softly) I didn’t know what to say then. What that might mean. About me-e-eaning.

(She steps into a new pool of light, centre stage.)

For a while I was really into the whole Buddhist thing. But then who wasn’t, right? Who didn’t want to join the movement away from egotism and toward the deeper meaning of life that lies beneath intellect … (dryly) in the nineties?

I am still searching for a deeper level of meaning and blahdedyblah, I’m just not so obsessed by the whole pursuit-of-Nirvana part of it: I’ve moved beyond that now.

At a certain point you realize: you can go on endlessly searching for the perfect faith, and these days, in this world, I just don’t think there is such a thing. So now I’m searching for a way to marry Eastern philosophy with more North American ideals. In a way that has almost NOTHING to do with intellect.

You just have to figure it out.

For example: when you go to yoga class? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wearing something super-tight. And a little fresh lipstick never killed anybody.

(Beat.)

Well … Anybody human.

(She casts down her eyes.)

So, I guess I’m sort of a Neo-Buddhist. Or … Post-Buddhist more.

(Pause.)

All I know for certain is, I just wanna live long enough to be young and beautiful … forever.

(Music in under.)

My name is Pochsy. And this is my story.

(Music to full: a bouncy, poppy, exuberant girl song. Pochsy climbs atop her banker’s box and dances go-go. She sings ‘Centre of the Universe.’)

Take my hand, let’s blow this land
Of be-or-not-to-be.
Come dive into the Centre
Of the Universe with me.
I won’t let the bad bugs bite;
We’ll shuck the oysters, pluck the pearls,
And I will be your Centre …

(She tosses her hair over her shoulder.)

Of the Universal Girl.

(Pochsy seems confused by her own weird lyric for a moment. Then she shrugs and speaks.)

Every morning, in the morning, I wake up to an achingly brilliant sun. Though I’ve been asleep for hours, my breath is minty fresh, so I know it’s going to be a good day.

Every morning, in the morning, I trace my fingers over the thick morning paper, slide out the entertainment section, and just … push the rest away.

My name is Pochsy: Taxpayer. Working girl.

(She twirls on the banker’s box, almost falls off, then continues dancing and singing.)

This flight is inward bound,
The dust is swirling all around,
We’re diving through a brand-new stratosphere.
But if the sky falls down,
We’ll dive below this shaky shaky ground
And baby I will whisper
Soft sweet nothings in your ear.

I’m calling to you, the apple’s seedless, take a bite.
Just take my hand and I’ll take you there tonight.

Every morning, in the morning, I step into the shower and wash and repair my damaged hair. I glide cool steel across my milky calves and watch my blood swirl down the drain, where it will mingle with the blood from a billion other calves.

Every morning, I drink a glass of orange juice made from oranges that have been infused with genes from the bones of small monkeys for a higher concentration of calcium, half the fat, and twice the fun!

My name is Pochsy: sin number 555 555 55, um… 5!

I’m calling to you, my dream is waking, wild and true.
Just take my hand, and my dream might be of you.

Every morning I step outside and I grab a steaming Ethiopian.

(Music halts. She clarifies.)

Coffee!

(Music restores.) Then I slide in behind the wheel of my new Pontiac Impatience. I power-lock the crumple-proof doors, and, as I cut off the bitch in the silver Infiniti, I gaze into my rearview mirror and I imagine a beautiful future.

’Cuz I believe that every day is a day when nothing has to happen, but anything could! I believe what could be should be. I believe there are no errands – just chances to drive!

Every morning, in the morning, I hear a voice whisp...