The Pride (NHB Modern Plays)

Alexi Kaye Campbell

• Editorial: Nick Hern Books
• Año: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781780010519
• Categoría: Literature
• Categoría: Drama

The powerful debut play from Alexi Kaye Campbell, winner of an Olivier Award, the Critics' Circle Award for Most Promising Playwright, and the John Whiting Award for Best New Play.

Alternating between 1958 and 2008, The Pride examines changing attitudes to sexuality, looking at intimacy, identity and the courage it takes to be who you really are.

The 1958 Philip is in love with Oliver, but married to Sylvia. The 2008 Oliver is addicted to sex with strangers. Sylvia loves them both.

This new edition of the play was published alongside its revival at the Trafalgar Studios in the West End in 2013.

'marvellous, sad and blisteringly funny... a brave and rewarding drama that speaks to us all' Guardian

'ingenious and imaginative' Evening Standard

'a remarkable debut from a daring dramatist' Telegraph

ACT ONE

1958

PHILIP and SYLVIA’s apartment in London. It is modest but tasteful. Lots of books, a sofa and armchairs, a few pictures on the wall.

PHILIP is standing by the front door. He is dressed for a night out. OLIVER has just arrived.

OLIVER. Philip.

PHILIP. Oliver.

OLIVER. Yes.

PHILIP. At last.

OLIVER. Yes.

PHILIP. I’ve heard so many things.

OLIVER. Have you?

PHILIP. So many things about you.

OLIVER. Gosh.

PHILIP. All good.

OLIVER. That’s a relief.

PHILIP. Sylvia’s always talking about you.

OLIVER. Is she?

PHILIP. I’m beginning to get rather jealous.

OLIVER. No need, I’m sure.

PHILIP. She thinks you’re a genius.

OLIVER. There are many things I am, but a genius is definitely not one of them.

PHILIP. Extraordinary is what she calls you.

OLIVER. Does she?

PHILIP. Out of the ordinary.

A slight pause.

Let me take your coat.

OLIVER. Thank you.

OLIVER takes off his coat and hands it to PHILIP, who hangs it up carefully.

PHILIP. I’m afraid the lady is running a little late. Applying the face paint, I believe. That ancient ritual.

OLIVER. I’m early.

PHILIP. Not at all. You’re right on time.

OLIVER. I walked. I thought it would take me slightly longer.

PHILIP. It’s a lovely evening.

OLIVER. Well, no rain in any case.

PHILIP. All the way from Maida Vale?

OLIVER. Yes, Maida Vale.

PHILIP. Across the park, eh?

OLIVER. Yes.

PHILIP. That’s a long walk.

OLIVER. I enjoyed it.

PHILIP. It’s the season for it.

OLIVER. Everything in full bloom.

PHILIP. Lovely.

A slight pause.

What can I get you to drink?

OLIVER. A Scotch?

PHILIP. Ice and water?

OLIVER. Perfect.

PHILIP. I think I’ll have the same.

PHILIP walks over to a small drinks table and pours them a couple of drinks.

She thinks your stories are wonderful.

OLIVER. She’s certainly captured the spirit of the thing.

PHILIP. She seems to care. About the book, I mean.

OLIVER. She’s very, very talented.

PHILIP. Can’t stop talking about it. Something about a garden.

OLIVER. Well, it’s more of a jungle, really.

PHILIP. A jungle.

OLIVER. Let’s call it a jungle in the heart of England. Or at least a very overgrown and rather tropical garden.

PHILIP. What is it with children’s writers and gardens? There seems to be a proliferation of them. Most of them secret, I dare say.

OLIVER. You’re right.

PHILIP. Well, she’s very busy with it in any case. Sketches of strange creatures all over the place. I came across a rather alarming picture of something that resembled a two-headed antelope in the bathroom the other day. Fascinating.

OLIVER. That’ll be the Bellyfinch. I’m supposed to be having a first look at it on Friday morning, I believe.

PHILIP. Bellyfinch indeed. I’m afraid by comparison my life seems rather lacklustre.

OLIVER. I don’t honestly believe there is such a thing as a lacklustre life.

PHILIP. You haven’t sold property for a living.

OLIVER. Unexplored perhaps, but not lacklustre.

PHILIP hands him his drink. They sit.

PHILIP. I’ve never met anyone like you before. A writer, I mean.

OLIVER. Haven’t you?

PHILIP. Apart from this ghastly friend of my mother’s who’s published a book on baking cakes.

OLIVER. Baking cakes?

PHILIP. I’m not sure that really counts.

OLIVER. That sounds a little unfair. Nothing wrong with books about cakes.

PHILIP. Have you only ever written for children?

OLIVER. For the most part. But I’ve written two travel books as well.

PHILIP. Sylvia mentioned it. One on Athens.

OLIVER. I lived there for a year.

PHILIP. And the other?

OLIVER. The other on the Lebanon.

PHILIP. The Lebanon?

OLIVER. But mostly I’m drawn to writing for children.

PHILIP. I wonder why.

OLIVER. I don’t really know. I think it might have something to do with running completely wild.

PHILIP. Wild?

OLIVER. The possibilities are infinite. The parameters and conventions of adult fiction I find a great deal more restrictive.

PHILIP. I see.

OLIVER. I feel a lot happier in a world of talking tigers and magic mirrors. More in my element, really.

PHILIP. Fair enough.

OLIVER. Maybe one day adult fiction will embrace my more extravagant flights of fancy, but for the time being I’m quite happy writing for the under-twelves.

PHILIP. Well, it seems to keep a roof over your head.

OLIVER. A leaking one, but yes, just about.

PHILIP. Well, here’s to the book anyway.

OLIVER. The book.

They toast.

PHILIP. It’s strange.

OLIVER. What is?

PHILIP. When I opened the door.

OLIVER. Yes?

PHILIP. You look familiar, is what I think I’m saying.

OLIVER. Yes, I thought so too.

PHILIP. Did you?

OLIVER. Yes, I think I did.

PHILIP. Well, maybe we’ve bumped into each other. On the Underground or something.

OLIVER. Maybe.

PHILIP. Stranger things have happened.

Pause.

Or maybe it’s just because she talks about you so often.

OLIVER. Talks about me?

PHILIP. So perhaps that’s why I felt like I’d seen you before.

OLIVER. How d’you mean?

PHILIP. Oh, it’s just that sometimes if you’ve heard a great deal about someone, if you’ve been expecting them in some way, you sort of imagine them before they actually arrive.

OLIVER. Yes.

PHILIP. If you know what I mean.

OLIVER. Yes, I think I do.

SYLVIA enters. She is smartly dressed for an evening out.

PHILIP. Here she is.

SYLVIA (to OLIVER). Has he been interrogating you?

PHILIP. Mercilessly.

OLIVER. Hello, Sylvia.

SYLVIA. He’s a very jealous kind of man.

PHILIP. Rabid with it.

SYLVIA. Can easily become violent. Philip, be a darling and do me up.

She turns her back to him so that he can help her with the top hook of her dress.

Comes in handy though from time to time, I must say. I see he’s offered you a drink.

OLIVER. He’s been the perfect host.

SYLVIA. So all that training wasn’t a complete waste of time after all.

PHILIP. I’m learning fast. Gin?

SYLVIA. I’ve booked the table for eight.

PHILIP. A quick one.

SYLVIA. Tha...