Great Expectations (NHB Modern Plays)

Charles Dickens

• Editore: Nick Hern Books
• Anno: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781780014623
• Argomento: Literatur
• Categoria: Drama

A gritty adaptation of Dickens' least sentimental love story with a cast of some of his most unforgettable characters.

Whilst at his parents' graveside, Pip is accosted by Magwitch, a convict escaped from one of the prison ships. Terrified, he is forced to help the man to get away. An unexpected invitation to the house of rich old Miss Havisham forces him into the path of her beautiful, cruel niece Estella and their strange, ruthless games. After an anonymous benefactor grants him a small fortune, Pip turns his back on his humble life as a blacksmith's apprentice - he moves to London to become a gentleman in the hopes of winning Estella. But he has no idea of the dangers that await him there, or from where his salvation will come.

'Expectations fulfilled... a show that is by turns frightening, funny and deeply affecting' - Daily Telegraph

'a wonderfully involving and eloquent adaptation... a fine example of fast, fluent ensemble story-telling... tremendous' - Independent

'bursting with snappy humour... Donnellan's adaptation beautifully conveys the world as seen by a child' - Sunday Telegraph

ACT ONE

The whole company come onto a bare stage.

CHORUS. My father’s family name being Pirrip,

CHORUS. and my Christian name Philip,

CHORUS. my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than . . .

CHORUS. Pip!

CHORUS. So, I called myself

CHORUS. Pip,

CHORUS. and came to be called

CHORUS. Pip.

CHORUS. Ours was the marsh country,

The scene opens up to show a distant flat horizon.

A graveyard.

CHORUS. down by the river, within twenty miles of the sea.

CHORUS. My first most vivid and broad impression of the identity of things seems to me to have been gained on this memorable raw, Christmas Eve afternoon towards evening. I found out for certain,

CHORUS. that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the churchyard;

CHORUS. and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana, wife of the above, were dead and buried;

CHORUS. and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard was the marshes;

CHORUS. and that the low leaden line beyond was the river;

CHORUS. and that the distant savage lair from which the wind was rushing was the sea;

CHORUS. and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry was Pip.

MAGWITCH appears from behind a gravestone.

MAGWITCH. Hold your noise! Keep still, you little devil, or I’ll cut your throat! Tell us your name. Quickly.

YOUNG PIP. Pip, sir.

MAGWITCH. Once more. Give it mouth!

YOUNG PIP. Pip. Pip, sir.

MAGWITCH. Show us where you live. Point out the place!

PIP points. MAGWITCH grabs his ankle, turns him upside down and shakes him. A crust of bread falls out of a pocket. MAGWITCH eats it ravenously.

What fat cheeks you ha’ got. Darn me if I couldn’t eat ’em too. Now lookee here! Where’s your mother?

YOUNG PIP. There, sir!

MAGWITCH starts up. PIP points to the gravestone.

Also Georgiana. That’s my mother.

MAGWITCH. Oh! And is that your father alonger your mother?

YOUNG PIP. Yes, sir, him too; late of this parish.

MAGWITCH. Ha! Who d’ye live with – supposin’ you’re kindly let to live, which I han’t made up my mind about?

YOUNG PIP. My sister, sir – Mrs Joe Gargery – wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir.

MAGWITCH. Blacksmith, eh? You know what a file is?

YOUNG PIP. Yes, sir.

MAGWITCH. And you know what wittles is?

YOUNG PIP. Yes, sir.

MAGWITCH. You get me a file and you get me wittles. You bring ’em both to me. Or I’ll have your heart and liver out. You bring the lot to me, at that old battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word or dare to make a sign concerning your having seen such a person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall be let to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted and ate.

The Gargery parlour.

MRS JOE. Where have you been, you young monkey? Tickler wants to know. Tell me directly where you’ve been to wear me away with fret and fright and worrit.

YOUNG PIP. The churchyard.

MRS JOE. Churchyard! If it warn’t for me you’d have been to the churchyard long ago, and stayed there. Who brought you up by hand?

YOUNG PIP. You did.

MRS JOE. And why did I do it, I should like to know?

YOUNG PIP. I don’t know.

MRS JOE. I don’t! I’d never do it again! I know that. I may truly say I’ve never had this apron of mine off since born you were. It’s bad enough to be a blacksmith’s wife – and him (Indicating JOE.) a Gargery – without being your mother. Hah! Churchyard, indeed! You may well say churchyard, you two. You’ll drive me to the churchyard betwixt you, one of these days, and oh, a pr-r-recious pair you’d be without me!

A distant rumble.

YOUNG PIP. Was that the guns, Joe?

JOE. Ah! There’s another conwict off.

YOUNG PIP. What does that mean, Joe?

MRS JOE. Escaped. Escaped.

YOUNG PIP. What’s a convict?

JOE. There was a conwict off last night, after sunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now, it appears they’re firing warning of another.

YOUNG PIP. Who’s firing?

MRS JOE. Drat that boy, what a questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies.

YOUNG PIP. Where does the firing comes from?

MRS JOE. Lord bless the boy! From the hulks!

YOUNG PIP. Oh-h! Hulks! What’s hulks?

MRS JOE. That’s the way with this boy! Answer him one question, and he’ll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships, right ’cross th’ meshes.

YOUNG PIP. Who’s in the prison-ships?

MRS JOE. I tell you what, young fellow, I didn’t bring you up by hand to badger people’s lives out. It would be blame to me, and not praise, if I had. People are put in the hulks because they murder, and because they rob, and forge, and do all sorts of bad; and they always begin by asking questions.

MRS JOE cuts and butters bread.

CHORUS. Though I was hungry,

CHORUS. I felt that I must have something in reserve for my dreadful acquaintance.

CHORUS. Joe had just looked away and I got my bread and butter down my leg.

JOE stares in disbelief.

MRS JOE. What’s the matter now?

JOE. I say, you know! Pip, old chap! You’ll do yourself a mischief. It’ll stick somewhere. You can’t have chawed it, Pip.

MRS JOE. What’s the matter now?

JOE. If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip, I’d recommend you to do it. Manners is manners, but still your elth’s your elth.

MRS JOE attacks JOE and tweaks his whiskers.

MRS JOE. Now, perhaps you’ll mention what’s the matter, you staring great stuck pig.

JOE. You know, Pip, you and me is always friends, and I’d be the last to tell upon you, any time. But such a – such a most oncommon bolt as that!

MRS JOE. Been bolting his food, has he?

JOE. You know, old chap, I bolted, myself, when I was your age – frequent – and as a boy I’ve been among a many bolters; but I never see your bolting equal yet, Pip, and it’s a mercy you ain’t bolted...