After Life (NHB Modern Plays)

Hirokazu Kore-eda, Jack Thorne

• Editore: Nick Hern Books
• Anno: 2021
• ISBN:
  9781788503914
• Argomento: Literature
• Categoria: British Drama

If you could spend eternity with just one precious memory, what would it be?

A group of strangers grapple with this impossible question as they find themselves in a bureaucratic waiting room between life and death. Encouraged by enigmatic officials, they must sift through their past lives to choose their forever.

Adapted from Hirokazu Kore-eda's award-winning film, After Life is a surreal and powerfully human look at the way we view our lives, and a haunting meditation on what it is to live – and to die.

Written by Jack Thorne from a concept by Bunny Christie, Jeremy Herrin and Thorne, After Life was first performed at the National Theatre, London, in June 2021.

It was directed by Herrin, in a co-production with Headlong, by special arrangement with Buena Vista Theatrical.

'A compelling vision of eternity' - The Times

'A powerful show with subtlety and tenderness' - The i

'A great idea, charmingly done... Although After Life is based on a film, its best parts are pure theatre' - Guardian

'Miraculous... an absolutely superb play... I was incredibly moved by it... a properly transcendent piece of theatre' - Time Out

ACT ONE

Scene One

The audience enter a big and impersonal room.

There is something magnificent about it, there’s something hugely bureaucratic about it.

But most importantly of all –

– there is a stench of death about the place.

Two people, TWO and FOUR, are cleaning away the debris and shoes. The debris is strange. The shoes are stranger.

TWO picks up the shoes and puts them in a box. Which he then seals and marks with yesterday’s date. Whilst FOUR sweeps the rest away.

After he’s packed the shoes and she’s swept the floor, they get out mops, and carefully and swiftly mop the floor. They’re good cleaners.

All trace of what was is removed.

TWO. Do we have clearance?

He gets a nod from stage management.

They leave the stage.

And then a bell tolls. Three times.

Our guides appear carrying chairs.

Suddenly the lights change.

And steam comes in from all the entrances as they are sealed.

ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR and FIVE enter the space.

FIVE looks around the gathered.

FIVE. You’d hope we were better looking. With an entrance like that, right?

‘MONDAY’ appears projected onto the haze.

Good morning. Good afternoon. Good evening. I think you understand the situation but I am obliged to inform you officially. Yesterday you passed away. I am very sorry for your loss.

He smiles.

You will be staying here with us for one week. Everyone has a private room – and you will be fed, watered and well looked after. No spa facilities I regret to say, as one woman – an American – asked the other week. She wanted to – steam. But we encourage you to relax and make yourself comfortable. However, while you’re here, there is one thing we must ask you to do.

He looks around.

We would like you to choose one memory, which is most meaningful or precious to you. One which creates a feeling you’ll be happy to – endure within. There is a time limit for this of three days. Once you’ve chosen your memory our staff will do their best to recreate it. On Saturday they will be presented to you and you will move on, taking only that memory with you.

He looks around the faces.

This process can be difficult, it can be painful even, but we are dedicated to try and make it as beautiful as possible for you. Or as beautiful as we can without steam. Thank you for listening. May your memories make you fly.

Scene Two

FOUR is pacing up and down. TWO sits behind a desk. Reading a book.

FOUR. What are you reading this week?

TWO raises up his book.

A new one. Again. How do you do it?

TWO. Perseverance.

There’s a moment between them. FOUR starts pacing again.

FOUR. I always get so fucking nervous before these things.

TWO. Do you have to use that word?

FOUR. I’m sorry. I get so – mega-nervous.

TWO. ‘Mega.’

A buzzer sounds.

FIVE. Number 286.

FOUR. There isn’t enough of us. Even Five says so.

TWO puts down his book. He looks at the time.

TWO. Are you ready?

FOUR. I’m ready.

TWO. Go on then.

FOUR. Number 286.

BEATRICE. Here.

She stands.

TWO. Good morning.

BEATRICE looks dazed.

Help her. Help her.

FOUR runs up to help her.

Are you comfortable with the step?

BEATRICE comes down the step.

BEATRICE (quietly). I’m fine, dear.

FOUR. You are Mrs Beatrice Killick?

BEATRICE (quietly). Miss.

As they reach TWO, TWO indicates on the form where FOUR has got it wrong.

FOUR. Miss. I’m sorry. I need your date of birth – for confirmation.

TWO pulls out a chair for BEATRICE to sit.

BEATRICE (still very quietly). I was born on 3rd April, 1930.

There’s a silence.

TWO. Miss Killick, we are – needless to say – very sorry for your loss.

BEATRICE. Yes. He said. I have a cat.

TWO. Is this the memory you’re thinking about?

BEATRICE. No. I have a cat. At home. A cat. I’m scared for it.

TWO. Of course you are.

BEATRICE. Can you help?

TWO. Sadly not.

BEATRICE. No one will feed it.

TWO. They will.

BEATRICE. No one will find it.

TWO. Is it hidden?

BEATRICE. Only in my house. But no one will find me.

There’s another silence.

TWO. I can’t help you with that matter. But maybe we can talk about your memory?

BEATRICE. I don’t care about the memory. I care about my cat.

A buzzer sounds. The lights switch off on this side and light up on the other side of the room where ONE stands waiting for her client.

ONE. Number 748.

OBAFEMI TAYLOR stands.

OBAFEMI. Me.

He walks down to her.

You don’t look like an angel.

ONE. Charming of you to say so.

OBAFEMI. But you’re a sort of angel, right?

ONE. I wouldn’t say so, no. That’s not the way, we actually have stairs for a reason…

OBAFEMI. Does everyone end up here?

ONE. Yes.

OBAFEMI. Everyone?

ONE. Yes.

OBAFEMI. Regardless of good or bad?

ONE. You’re referring to the idea of heaven and hell?

OBAFEMI. The ‘idea’?

ONE (wincing). That was perhaps crudely put.

OBAFEMI. You’re really telling me this is all there is? Okay. That’s bullshit. Okay.

A buzzer sounds.

FIVE. Number 114.

We cut again. JILL SMART is desperate to please.

JILL. It was a little far away but we decided to go on that ride… the one called the Tower of Terror.

TWO. The Tower of Terror? Okay.

JILL. It was – we’d just had pancakes – the queue took forever, but once we were on it. I sat by Noma, my friend, and we held hands all the way around, screaming our heads off. And laughing. It was – co...