Dances of Death (NHB Modern Plays)

Howard Brenton

• Editorial: Nick Hern Books
• Año: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781780012537
• Categoría: Literature
• Categoría: Drama

A gripping new version of Strindberg's masterly, darkly hilarious depiction of the struggles and strains of marriage.

Meet Edgar and Alice. Married for over thirty years, theirs is a relationship of explosive mutual loathing. Strindberg's tale paints a compulsive and bitterly funny portrait of a magnificently doomed couple, whose ongoing battle threatens not only their future, but that of their friends and children as well.

This new version offers audiences a unique chance to see not only Part One but also the rarely performed Part Two of this masterpiece of European theatre condensed into a single two-act drama.

'ferociously intense... a howl of primitive power' The Times

'a blistering account of a mildewed marriage' Whatsonstage.com

'Howard Brenton has worked wonders... this fresh and exciting new version demands to be seen' British Theatre Guide

PART ONE

Scene One

The inside of a round fortification tower built of granite.

In the background, double doors of glass set in a large gateway, through which can be seen a fortified seashore and the sea.

A window.

A writing table, upon it a telegraph machine.

Two dilapidated armchairs, a chaise longue, a small chair against a wall.

A large portrait of ALICE in stage costume on the wall. Also a large mercury barometer.

ALICE. Shall I keep the door open?

CAPTAIN. Up to you.

ALICE. Open, then. (A pause.) You’re not smoking.

CAPTAIN. I don’t know, lately strong tobacco’s got to my stomach.

ALICE. Smoke something weaker. You say it’s your only pleasure.

CAPTAIN. ‘Pleasure’? What does that word mean?

ALICE. I’ve not the faintest idea. (A pause.) Do you want a whisky?

CAPTAIN. Bit early. What’s for supper?

ALICE. How do I know? Ask the girl.

CAPTAIN. The mackerel should be in season soon. It’s autumn, after all. Outside… and inside. (A pause.) A mackerel, crusted skin gleaming from the grill, with a slice of lemon and a chilled, white burgundy.

ALICE. Poetic all of a sudden, darling?

CAPTAIN. Is there any burgundy left in the cellar?

ALICE. You drank it.

CAPTAIN. Better stock up then. Celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary.

ALICE. You’re not serious.

CAPTAIN. Naturally.

ALICE. It would be more ‘natural’ to celebrate thirty years of misery.

CAPTAIN. Alice my sweet, yes, it’s been horribly miserable but we’ve had good times. Now and then. And we must make use of the time we have left before it’s all over.

ALICE. You and I ‘over’? If only.

CAPTAIN. Don’t worry! We are over. It’s all dead. This marriage is dead… manure. Shovel it into a wheelbarrow, spread it on the garden.

ALICE. It would kill off all the plants.

CAPTAIN. Well, there we go.

A pause.

ALICE. Did the post come?

CAPTAIN. Yes.

The CAPTAIN pulls out envelopes.

ALICE. Is the butcher’s bill there?

CAPTAIN. You look.

ALICE. Eyes worse, are they?

CAPTAIN. Nonsense.

ALICE. Slackening of muscles in the eyeballs.

CAPTAIN. Rubbish.

ALICE (looks at the bill). Can you pay this?

CAPTAIN. Of course. Later.

ALICE. How late? In a year’s time, when you’ve got your weeny, weeny little pension? Or later than that, when your illness has come back…

CAPTAIN. What illness, never been ill in my life. A little… nausea. I’ve got twenty more years at least.

ALICE. The doctor doesn’t think so.

CAPTAIN. Doctor…

A pause.

ALICE. He’s throwing a party tonight.

CAPTAIN. I know the quack’s throwing a party, don’t harp on about it!

ALICE. We weren’t invited.

CAPTAIN. We weren’t invited because we don’t socialise with the quack, and we don’t socialise with the quack because we don’t want to, because I despise him and I despise his silly, goose-brained, always-with-a-new-hairdo wife. They are rubbish.

ALICE. Everyone’s rubbish to you.

CAPTAIN. People are rubbish.

ALICE. Well then, another evening in. (A pause.) Do you want to play cards?

CAPTAIN. Fine.

ALICE takes a pack of cards from a drawer in the sewing table and begins to shuffle.

ALICE. Just think, the doctor’s got the Army Band to play at his party.

CAPTAIN. That’s because he’s a wheedler, he wheedles his way in with the Colonel in the town. If only I could wheedle.

ALICE. I used to like Gerda. Then she turned vicious.

CAPTAIN. They’re all vicious. What are trumps over there?

ALICE. Put your glasses on.

CAPTAIN. They’re no use. Well? What…

ALICE. Spades are trumps.

CAPTAIN (disgruntled). Spades…

ALICE leads.

ALICE. She’s turned the wives of the new officers against us, they’ve really got it in for you and me.

CAPTAIN. Don’t care, I put up with it. I’ve always been a loner.

ALICE. Well, at least we’re alike in that. But I fear for our daughter, growing up without any society.

CAPTAIN. If she wants ‘society’ let her get it, in town. I took that! Have you got more trumps there?

ALICE. One! There!

CAPTAIN. Six and eight equals fifteen…

ALICE. Fourteen! Fourteen!

CAPTAIN.…six and eight equals fourteen. I’ve forgotten how to count. And two makes… sixteen… (Yawns.) You deal.

ALICE. Tired, darling?

CAPTAIN. Not at all.

ALICE listens in the direction of the door.

ALICE. You can hear the music all this way. (A pause.) Do you think they invited Kurt?

CAPTAIN. Well, he got here this morning so he’ll have had time to get his fancy dress suit out. Not that he’s had time to call on us.

ALICE. What’s all this about him being ‘Master of Quarantine’, are they going to make a quarantine station here?

CAPTAIN. Oh yes.

ALICE. Why don’t you tell me these things? God! (A pause.) Well, he’ll be important and he is my cousin, we did share the same name once…

CAPTAIN. A dubious honour.

ALICE. Don’t start on my family and I won’t start on yours.

CAPTAIN. No, don’t let’s get into all that again.

A pause.

ALICE. Doesn’t the Master of Quarantine have to be a doctor?

CAPTAIN. Not at all, he’s just a jumped-up civil servant, a bookkeeper with a flashy title. The perfect rubbish post for Kurt.

God knows what he’s been up to in America. Well, I haven’t missed him.

ALICE. Strange though.

CAPTAIN. What is?

ALICE. That Kurt should come back just in time for our thirtieth.

CAPTAIN. Why is that strange? Oh, I see, you mean because he brought us together.

ALICE. Well, he did.

CAPTAIN. Our matchmaker. Ha! Thought he was saving you, didn’t he.

ALICE. Stupid idea…

CAPTAIN. Well, we’ve had to pay for it, not him.

ALICE. Imagine if I’d stayed in the theatre. All my friends are famous now.

CAPTAIN. Right, a drink.

He walks over to the sideboard and makes himself a drink, ...