Collaborators

A Play

John Hodge

• Éditeur: Grove Press
• Année: 2013
• ISBN:
  9780802193988
• Sujet: Literature
• Sous-sujet: British Drama

This "gripping, disturbing, and often blackly comic drama" explores the historic connection between Stalin and Russian author Mikhail Bulgakov ( The Daily Telegraph, UK). A "rare and special" play by the screenwriter of Trainspotting and Shallow Grave, Collaborators is inspired by the true story of another play: one that Mikhail Bulgakov was forced to write in commemoration Joseph Stalin's sixtieth birthday ( The Times, UK). Moscow, 1938. Stalin has been in power for sixteen years and his purges are underway. Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita is lying unpublished in a desk drawer, and his latest play Molière has been banned following terrible reviews in Pravda. As a secret policeman dryly puts it, this has opened up a convenient "gap in his schedule." This "gap" is to be filled by writing a play about Stalin's life. As Bulgakov loses himself in a world of secrets, threats, and paradoxes, he begins to fall ill from kidney disease. His feverish dreams of conversations with Stalin become reality in his mind, just as the state's lies become truths in his play. Collaborators is a darkly comic portrait of the impossible choices facing an artist living under dictatorship, and a surreal journey into the imagination of a writer as he loses himself in the subject of his drama. Winner of the 2012 Laurence Olivier Awards Best New Play

Act One

One double bed.

One large table, two chairs.

Typewriter, decanter, and two glasses on table.

Telephone on a wooden stand.

Gramophone on a wooden stand.

One large cupboard/wardrobe with double sliding doors.

As the curtain rises, it is night.

Bulgakov is lying asleep.

Beside him on the bed is Yelena, also sleeping.

All is quiet.

Then there is a knocking sound. Soft at first but soon loud.

A rhythmic regular thumping.

Bulgakov awakes.

He shakes his wife but she does not stir.

He gets out of bed.

He searches for the source of the noise.

It grows louder and faster.

Eventually, he realises: the knocking comes from within the cupboard.

He approaches. Stands in front of the door.

The knocking reaches a coda, and with a final thump, it stops.

Cautiously, Bulgakov raises a hand to the door.

And suddenly the door slides violently open.

A backlit silhouetted figure inside lets out a yell.

Bulgakov jumps back with a shriek.

The figure jumps out.

He is Joseph Stalin.

Music starts: a silent-movie funny-chase tune.

Stalin pounces towards Bulgakov.

Bulgakov flees.

Stalin, slightly comedic – a malicious Groucho Marx – follows suit.

Stalin pursues Bulgakov around the room and over the bed.

A chase around the table.

Around and over the bed again.

Back to the table.

Stalin picks up the typewriter.

He swings it at Bulgakov.

Bulgakov evades but trips.

He lies on the floor.

He looks up to Stalin looming over him with the heavy typewriter.

Stalin mugs to the audience – ‘Will I or won’t I?’

Stalin brings the typewriter down with a vicious sneer.

Blackout.

Lights up. Dawn.

Mikhail Bulgakov is sitting on the side of his bed.

Head in his hands, breathing deeply.

A hand falls on his shoulder.

He turns to face Yelena.

Yelena Did he catch you?

Bulgakov No. No, he didn’t. I was too quick for him. Grabbed the typewriter, jammed his fingers in and typed ‘You bastard’ all across his knuckles.

Bulgakov begins to dress.

Yelena That’s a good sign. Did you have your clothes on?

Bulgakov I think so.

Yelena Did he?

Bulgakov Why? Do you secretly fantasise about your husband in a naked love romp with the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?

Yelena I just wondered if he was hairy.

Bulgakov He probably is, but I think it’s illegal to know.

Bulgakov kisses her on the cheek.

She looks at him with concern.

Yelena How do you feel?

Bulgakov Fine. I feel fine. I mean just the same. It’s nerves, Yelena. Anxiety. That’ll be the diagnosis.

He kisses her again.

Enter Praskovya and Vasilly, who sit at the table.

Bulgakov pulls on his jacket and crosses towards them.

Vasilly Good morning, Bulgakov!

Bulgakov Good morning, Vasilly, Praskovya.

Praskovya Good morning, Mr Bulgakov. How are you this morning?

Bulgakov I’m fine, thanks.

Praskovya But you look ill. An immediate and unassailable contradiction, I think.

Bulgakov No, really, I’m fine.

Praskovya You’ve lost weight. Your colour is poor. You have bad dreams.

Bulgakov No, I don’t.

Praskovya Did he catch you this time?

Bulgakov We are not going to talk about my dreams –

Praskovya He caught you.

Bulgakov No.

Praskovya He always catches you. There is no escape from him.

Bulgakov Praskovya, I am grateful for your concern.

Vasilly Coffee, Mikhail?

Bulgakov We have coffee?

Vasilly No. Of course not. I am simply uttering words of desire at random.

Bulgakov Large cup, please.

Vasilly And let’s see what else.

He slides opens the empty cupboard.

Look! Fresh fruit! Salami! Pickled vegetables!

He slides the door shut.

Bulgakov Nothing for me, thanks.

Praskovya You see. He’s not eating.

Bulgakov Only because there’s nothing to eat.

Vasilly Tell, me Mikhail, did you enjoy a hot bath this morning?

Bulgakov Vasilly – I forgot!

Vasilly So did I! Like the fool I am, I made do with a few drops of cold water rubbed vigorously into the creases of my d...