Plays by Women from the Contemporary American Theater Festival

Gidion's Knot; The Niceties; Memoirs of a Forgotten Man; Dead and Breathing; 20th Century Blues

Susan Miller, Eleanor Burgess, Johnna Adams, Chisa Hutchinson, D.W. Gregory, Peggy McKowen, Ed Herendeen, Peggy McKowen, Ed Herendeen

• Editorial: Methuen Drama
• Año: 2019
• ISBN:
  9781350084834
• Edición: 1
• Categoría: Medios de comunicación y artes escénicas
• Categoría: Escritura de obras de teatro

Based at Shepherd University, in West Virginia, the Contemporary American Theater Festival is nationally and internationally recognized as a home for playwrights and the development and production of new plays. The Festival makes it a priority to celebrate and produce playwrights with strong, distinct voices, with a core value to tell diverse stories. This anthology of work provides plays that speak to one of the most compelling virtues of artists everywhere – freedom of speech. A necessary volume of women playwrights' work, ranging from a two-time Obie Award-winning author to emerging writers just beginning their careers, it represents a group of women who vary in age, race and sexual orientation and offers an invitation to artistic leaders, scholars and students to embrace gritty, thought-provoking new dramatic work. Edited by The Festival's Producing Directors Peggy McKowen and Ed Herendeen, this anthology features an introduction by Pulitzer Prize-winner Lynn Nottage. Each of the five powerful plays is followed by an informative and discursive playwright interview conducted by Sharon J. Anderson that contextualizes and develops the works within the wider context of the annual festival. The plays include:
Gidion's Knot by Johnna Adams
The Niceties by Eleanor Burgess
Memoirs of a Forgotten Man by D.W Gregory
Dead and Breathing by Chisa Hutchinson
20th Century Blues by Susan Miller

Memoirs of a Forgotten Man

D.W. Gregory

Cast of Characters

Kreplev, a government investigator, mid to late 50s

Natalya Berezina, psychologist, mid 40s

Alexei S., a man with an incredible memory, early 30s

Vasily, his brother, late 30s

Sonia, their mother, 40 at first, later about 60

Markayevna, Alexei’s childhood teacher

Utkin, Alexei’s editor

Demidova, a displaced aristocrat, nearly 60

Azarov, a carnival performer, about 50 years old

An old peasant woman

The action moves between an office in Moscow, circa 1957, and various locations in Leningrad in 1937–8.

The play is written so that four actors can double into 10 parts, as follows:

Actor 1: Alexei/the Amazing Azarov

Actor 2: Kreplev/Vasily

Actor 3: Natalya/Madame Demidova

Actor 4: Peasant Woman/Miss Markayevna/Mother/Utkin

It is also possible for Actor 2 to double as Utkin.

The Playing Space

I envision a space that can stand in for various locations—the office of the investigator, Natalia’s office at the psychological hospital, Mother’s kitchen, a schoolroom and so forth. Through the use of lighting, projections and on-stage costume changes, the action is intended to move fluidly from place to place and back and forth through time.

Note on Production

Any production or presentation of the play must include this statement in program materials.

Memoirs of a Forgotten Man was first produced as a National New Play Network Rolling World Premiere by Contemporary American Theater Festival (WV), New Jersey Repertory Company (NJ), and Shadowland Stages (NY). For more information please visit www.nnpn.org.

Act One

The set is a stark, stylized playing space that doubles for various locations. It is furnished with a table and two or three chairs, as well as some form of storage for props and costumes. Upstage, a large window—or the representation of one—and beyond it, AT RISE, an enormous image of Stalin, smiling benignly through the window. All we see of Stalin is an eternally staring eye, the tip of a smiling mouth, but the face is unmistakable.

As the action begins, this image fades and Azarov appears: Dressed in a tuxedo, like a magician, holding a blindfold in his hand. In the window we now see a display—about 30 random words in various hands, as if each word has been written on a blackboard by different individuals. An old peasant woman writes one final word as Azarov watches. She hands the chalk to Azarov and walks off. Azarov addresses an unseen audience with a showman’s flair.

Azarov Thank you. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your help in creating this list. I’ve asked you for words and dates that mean something to you. And since we’ve created this list just now—you know that I’ve never seen it before.

Azarov looks at the display for a brief moment, silently mouthing what he sees. He turns to the audience, smiles. A beat, then he repeats exactly the display behind him.

Azarov Story, donut, Petrograd, apple, bottle, Palm Sunday, promotion, sunstroke, organ, June 16, jewelry, kiss, December, drama, railroad, meeting, lemons, handshake, pickles, orange grove, grandchildren, harvest, avenue, perfume, discharge, Feast of St. Stephen, dacha, May 1, tulip.

Applause. Azarov bows.

Azarov Now ladies and gentlemen, shall we try a much longer list?

Lights fade on Azarov and rise full on Kreplev, in a drab government office, with a manuscript in his hands.

The image of Stalin returns to the window.

Kreplev Memory. Madness. How do these things work together? When nothing can be relied upon? Consider a man tormented by a memory he cannot shake. It tortures him. Because he cannot be sure whether he lived it. Or imagined it. On this point, perhaps we can all agree: He must be mad. But consider another man. One whose understanding of the world is shaped by memories of things he knows never happened. Is he mad? Or merely accommodating?

A beat as Kreplev assesses his audience.

Kreplev Perhaps a metaphor will help. Suppose we are married, you and I. And we agree to a shared understanding of our history. We tell the story often. How we met at the ballet. You, descending the grand stair on your lover’s arm. I, at the bottom, bored, waiting for the crowd to clear. Suddenly our eyes meet. And we know at once. Within minutes, we’re in the cloakroom, where we devour each other with a passi...