Low Level Panic (NHB Modern Plays)

Clare McIntyre

• Editorial: Nick Hern Books
• Año: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781780018584
• Categoría: Literatura
• Categoría: Arte dramático británico

Three flatmates. A single bathroom. And a whole world of men.

In this funny, unapologetic play, three twenty-something women figure out how they really feel about sex, their bodies and each other. With a vibrancy and stylistic freedom, Low Level Panic interrogates the effects of society's objectification of women.

Low Level Panic premiered at the Royal Court Theatre in 1988, winning the Samuel Beckett Award. This edition was published alongside its first major revival at the Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond, in 2017.

'Low level panic is the constant fear that runs through women's lives like a cold underground stream, its source is male violence and it is fed by tributaries of pornography. Clare McIntyre's play looks at the repercussions this fear has on the lives of three women' - Time Out

'McIntyre has a deadly accurate ear, a subtle sense of humour and a deep fund of compassion: she writes with thrilling understanding' - Sunday Times

Scene One

JO and MARY are in the bathroom. JO is having a bath. MARY is washing her face with a flannel at the washhand-basin. There is a pornographic magazine on the bathroom chair. The scene takes place during the morning of a sunny summer’s day.

JO. Are you going to tell me?

MARY. What?

JO. What’s the matter?

MARY. Nothing.

JO. You’ve been crying.

MARY. I’m alright.

JO. Don’t bottle it up.

MARY. It’s nice out. (Opens the window.)

JO. Suit yourself.

MARY sits in the armchair and looks through the magazine. JO sings ‘Misty’.

‘Look at me
I’m as helpless as a kitten
Up a tree.
Da da di da da di da
Di dum dum di da
I get Misty
Di dum dum di dum.’

Read that bit again.

MARY. Which bit?

JO. The bit you were reading.

MARY. The woman coming all the time?

JO. Yup.

MARY. Why?

JO. Just read it.

MARY. ‘…Well, I fucked her for ages and ages and lost count of the number of orgasms she had. Okay, the rest of my body was falling apart while I was fucking her, but my cock was as powerful as ever… blah, blah, blah, blah… That woman seemed to be having an orgasm each time I pushed my cock into her and another orgasm each time I pulled it out.’ That bit?

JO. Yeah… Fancies himself doesn’t he?

MARY. Do you get off on it?

JO. It’s for men, Mary. You shouldn’t be looking at it at all.

MARY. It’s a free country.

JO. Why did you buy it?

MARY. I didn’t. I found it.

JO. Oh.

MARY. In the bin.

JO. What bin?

MARY. Our bin.

JO. Our bin?

MARY. Mnn.

JO. In our bin?

MARY. Yeah.

JO. Charming.

MARY. It was just sitting there.

JO. Trust you.

MARY. What?

JO. Nothing.

MARY. What?

JO. Well I didn’t find it did I?

MARY. No.

JO. What’s the matter?

MARY. I’m alright.

JO. You’ve been crying. You’re all blotchy.

MARY. I’ve been in the sun.

JO. Sure?

MARY. Yes. (Holds up a double spread of the magazine to show JO.) Look at this… Why do blokes get off on this stuff?

JO. Who cares?

MARY. I do.

JO. Why? What’s it to you? Bloody nerve.

MARY. What?

JO. I might put old sweetie papers or a bag of orange peel in someone else’s bin. I wouldn’t ditch garbage like that on someone else.

MARY. What kind of blokes get off on it?

JO. Fuck knows. Maybe they’re just fucked up. It’s not everyone.

MARY. How do you know?

JO. It’s blokes who can’t get it together with anyone. Relatively speaking they’re from another planet. I wish baths were big enough to float in.

MARY. I’ll bet it’s more than you think.

JO. That’s what I’d do if I was really rich: I’d get a huge bath.

MARY. I’ll bet you half the blokes in the world read this stuff.

JO. Sod the water bed: I’d go for a huge bath.

MARY. Are you listening?

JO. Yeah.

MARY. Well?

JO. What?

MARY. It’s not just the odd freak. It’s half the people you’ve ever met. Isn’t it?

JO. I don’t know. How should I know?

MARY. It is. I know it is.

JO. So what?

MARY. ‘Long, leggy Barbara reveals all and hopes all you guys out there like what you see.’

JO. Course they do.

MARY. She’s not that pretty.

JO. She’s thin though isn’t she?

MARY. Not really.

JO. She’s thinner than me.

MARY. How d’you know. You haven’t even looked.

JO. I don’t have to.

MARY. You’re not that fat.

JO. I’m not seventeen either.

(Sings.)

‘She was just seventeen
Well, you know what I mean
And the way she moved
Was way beyond compare.
I couldn’t dance with another
Ooooooooo
When I saw her standing there.’

MARY (looks out of the window). I wish there was a garden out here at the front of the house.

JO. Ummn.

MARY. Might be quieter.

JO. Than what?

MARY. The back.

JO. Doubt it.

MARY. Might be more peaceful

JO stretches both her legs vertically out of the bath and looks at them.

JO. What do you think?

MARY. What?

JO. My legs?

MARY. What about them?

JO. They look really good.

MARY. Why?

JO. Like this.

MARY. Do they?

JO. I think so.

MARY. They don’t look...