Extract From “Immaculate”
For a
printer friendly version of this file Click Here. |
|
Back
to Scripts:
From
Act One:
From Act Two:
Poster from First Production.From
Act One:
From Act Two:
From
Act One:
From Act Two:
Back
to Scripts:
|
Extracts
from “Immaculate”. The play is set in a small but tidy and well looked after
bed-sit apartment. There is a sofa
(which opens out into a double bed), two comfortable chairs, a small dining
'area' suitable for no more than two, and the usual fixtures such as the
stereo (which is playing The Köln Concert by Keith Jarrett as the play
begins), some table lamps, an ash-tray, opened (and almost empty) bottle of
red wine, and two glasses. The flat
belongs to Maria, a woman in her early thirties who has just said a tense
goodnight to her toy-boy boyfriend Joseph. Maria
sips her wine. A pause. There is a sound at the door. Three knocks, soft but not hesitant. Maria: Oh God!
Joe! She
crosses to the door and opens it without looking gesturing him in with a huge
flourish. Maria: Well met, my lord we have mourned your
absence these four and twenty weeks, the castle, as you see, remains
unchanged and we... It is not Joe at the door.
The man who stands there does not enter, simply watches calmly with a
smile. He has long dark hair, a calm
presence, and seems if not meek, certainly mild mannered. Maria: Oh. Visitor: Hello. Maria: Hello. Visitor: Sorry to bother you. May I come in? Maria: Erm.
No. I mean, who are you? Visitor: Oh.
I'm sorry. Here's my card. Maria: Is this some sort of joke? Visitor: What do you mean? Maria: "What do you mean?" What do you mean what do I mean? [Holding up the card and reading its entire
contents] "GOD". Visitor: That's right. Maria: At a Visitor: Maria: Oh really? Visitor: Yes. She
shuts the door in his face and walks back to the couch. Maria: Heh.
God. Good one. What’s he selling? Again, three short knocks.
Maria: It’s nearly two in the morning! I don’t want a copy of watchtower at two in
the afternoon so what makes you think I would want it now? Again,
three short knocks. She storms to the
door and opens it. Maria: Right.
Let me explain something to you.
I don’t want to talk to you about God, Allah, Buddha, Jesus, Visitor: The lights were on. Maria: I beg your pardon? Visitor: You said that I woke you up. Maria: What? Visitor: You’re fully dressed and the lights are on. Maria: It’s nearly two in the morning! Visitor: I haven’t come to sell you anything. Maria: What? Visitor: I’m simply here to offer you an
opportunity. Maria: I don’t want any double glazing. Visitor: I don’t have any. Maria: Cleaning products? Visitor: No. Maria: Change my electricity supplier? Visitor: No. Maria: Okay.
You know what? I don’t care. Visitor: Then we can talk? Maria: No.
You can fuck off. She shuts the door in his face.
She walks back to the couch and sits down, takes a sip of wine, and
picks up the business card. Maria: [to herself] God! Great business card! Vistor: [from behind door] Do you like the font? Maria: You still here? Visitor: I’m not going anywhere. A pause. A change of
atmosphere. She walks towards the door
but does not open it. Maria: Okay, listen up. This isn't quite so funny now. You know, I don't know what you want or
whether you get some sort of sick kicks out of doing this holy-Joe shit but
you can go and bother someone else okay? Visitor: I only want to talk. Maria: Yeah, just you, me, and Fred West, eh? Visitor: That's really in rather poor taste. Maria: Well as you’re the one claiming to be a deity
in need of a chat, I don't think you’re in a position to make judgements
about taste, do you? Visitor: Listen Maria, I don't mean you any harm at
all, I just want to talk to you for a while, if you find that threatening
then - Maria: Listen I don't know who you are but you’re
starting to scare me, and if you don’t leave now I’m going to call the
police. Visitor: There's no point. Your phone’s not working. Maria: Of course not. And you'd know that would you? Visitor: Well, yes, obviously. Maria: Obviously. She
crosses to the phone and picks it up.
It doesn't work. Visitor: See? She goes to her bag and takes out her mobile. She wanders, staring at the screen, trying
to get a signal. Visitor: No reception? Maria: Shouldn't there be high strings now, creepy
brass music or something. I'm sure
this is where the creepy music starts. Visitor: Maria, I'll make it easy for..... Maria: Who the fuck are you?!? How do you know my name? Visitor: I am who I say I am. And that's why I know your name. Maria: Now you listen to me. If you want to talk, that's fine, but you
can talk from where you are, and I don't guarantee to be listening, okay? Visitor: Okay, if that's how you'd like it, but what
I have to discuss with you is a highly delicate matter and I really can't
talk about it through the door. Maria: Well then, you'd better find some pretty
good way of convincing me you're not some whacked out loony with an ego
problem, or you're not going to get a word of your precious concerns past
your lips. Visitor: When you were younger you had a rag doll
called Jemima Cottonhands. Maria: What? Visitor: She was your favourite toy. Your mother bought it for you when you were
two and you slept with it every night for almost four years. Maria: Jemima what? Visitor: Cottonhands. Maria: Never heard of her. Visitor: You didn't call her that. That was the name on the box. You called her... Maria: [gasps] Floppy Moppy. You're talking about Floppy Moppy. She
goes to the door and opens it, but does not let him in. Maria: How the fuck do you know that? Visitor: Is that a trick question? Maria: Okay.
So you've spoken to my mum and you've got a couple of handy childhood
stories. Who put you up to this,
eh? Uncle Ted and Auntie Janice. It's them isn't it? They sent you. Visitor: No. Maria: Yeah, like you'd tell me if it was. Visitor: Of course. Maria: Yeah, of course. [She
laughs to herself] Well, okay
then, "God", so what happened to Floppy Moppy? Visitor: When you were four your parents bought a
dog from the RSPCA. They called him
Finnigan. He was a scrappy old thing
when he first arrived. Skinny and
jumpy, scared of everything. He
wouldn't let you near him for weeks. Maria: Yeah.
I remember. Visitor: The people who had had him before had
beaten and scalded him with hot water as a punishment. His skin was covered with rashes, scabs,
scars, and burns. He hadn't been fed
properly and his ribs were misshaped from a time when he had been kicked across
the room and it hadn't healed correctly.
Maria: He didn't growl for the first year that we
had him. I think they must have
punished him for making any sort of noise. Visitor: Finally, however, you befriended
Finnigan. He ended up sleeping at the
base of your bed. Until one
morning. You were approaching your
sixth birthday and you woke up and Floppy Moppy was gone. And so was Finnigan. So you called for him. And when he came he had a piece of Floppy
Moppy's dress hanging out of his mouth. Maria: Yes. Visitor: And that was the last time you ever saw
her. Maria: Yes.
And that's the end of the story. Visitor: No it isn't. Maria: Yes it is. Visitor: No, there was more. Maria: Well, yes, there were tears and
tantrums. And I forced dad to dig up
pretty much the entire garden looking for her and according to Mum I didn't
sleep well for about a month but that's about it. Visitor: No.
There was something more. Maria: I don't know what you're talking about. Visitor: Later that day you were sat in the lounge
by the fireplace. Your father was in
the garden, searching, and your mother was cooking in the kitchen. Finnigan came in. You picked up the poker from the fireplace
and when Finnigan came up to you to nuzzle against you, you.... Maria: I hit him with the poker. Oh god.
I was so angry. I just wanted
to hurt him. Visitor: And? Maria: [welling
up but fighting it] He let out a sound.
A yelp. Visitor: And? Maria: You tell me. You're the deity. Visitor: You felt powerful. And that felt good, exciting. Maria: That's not true. Visitor: Isn't it? Maria: No.
I was angry and hurt and I wanted Floppy Moppy back and I just hated
that damn dog so much for killing her and I wanted to get my own back. So I did.
[A pause] And, yes, it felt good. And bad.
And now it's my turn so you tell me: Apart from this fascinating
dissection of my childhood secrets is there a reason for this visit or is it
just that things have got a bit boring in heaven and you fancied a chat with
someone wingless? Visitor: [Smiling]
No. There is a reason I'm here,
enjoyable though this conversation is. Maria: And that purpose is.....? Visitor: Maria.
The world is in trouble. Maria: Really?
Shit. And there was me thinking
everything was Hunky Dory. Visitor: Humanity has to wake up before it's too
late. Maria: Oooh.
Very Visitor: You have to learn to love each other
unconditionally. Selflessly. Maria: I think you'll find we tried that in the
60's and it didn't work so we became yuppies instead. Didn't make us any happier but at least we
weren't dancing round in fields covered in shit any more. Visitor: So it's time for what you like to call the
second coming. Maria: No.
The second coming is what men manage on the first few dates whilst
they're still making an effort. Visitor: I mean it.
That's why I'm here. Maria: Really? Visitor: Really. Maria: You want to… have sex with me? ---------------------------------------------------------- Maria: Listen, a man turns up at my door claiming
to be god and I sleep with him. It
doesn’t even take him an hour to convince me.
I’m not that gullible. Really,
I’m not. I can even deal with the men
at the garage. And I’m not that
easy. It took Joe weeks. Visitor No it didn’t. Maria: Okay, with Joe it was days. But he’s just so bloody cute, and anyway,
not many women my age get to have a toy-boy and… well, he’s alright, you
know. He smokes too much but he’s
kind. And funny. I like funny. And clever. He is clever. And talented. Well, if you like Middle American guitar
rock. Which I don’t. Visitor Do you remember when you first met Joe? Maria: Nadine’s party. Visitor What was the first thing you thought when
you saw him for the first time. Maria: I wouldn’t like to say in polite company. Visitor Before that. Maria: Well, there was a sort of excitable girlish
squeak, inside of course, and the sound of my heart triple-jumping its way to
my mouth. This was immediately
followed by the sound of many doors slamming in my brain as every witty or
attractive thought decided to take a few hours off at the same time. Visitor Before that. Maria: Really, there was no before that. There was just the seeing and the squeaking
and the lusting. Visitor Think back.
Where were you? Maria: At Nadine’s party. I’ve already told you that. And shouldn’t you know already. Visitor [Slightly
exasperated] I do know. I’m trying
to help you remember. Maria: Alright, alright, keep your halo on. Heh.
Sorry. Visitor Technically, that’s angels. Maria: Picky picky picky. Anyway, I was, erm, in the front room. Visitor Close your eyes. See the room. Maria: [Closing
her eyes] Don’t read my diary. Visitor I don’t need to. Where are you in the room? Maria: I’m standing by the big windows that look
out over the garden. I’ve just been
making false conversation with one of Nadine’s friends who claims that we’ve
met before. But we haven't met. She’s a total stranger to me, and on top of
that, she annoys me. She’s got one of
those false patronising smiles they get taught how to do at drama
school. Or in Visitor You thought you knew him? Maria: No, just a feeling we’d met before. Like you get sometimes. We hadn’t met before of course. And that sense of familiarity was
vanquished by nerves as soon as I tried to talk to him. God, I barely managed a sentence. Oh!
I mean, not you, I meant, you know, God in the more general
sense. Sweary god. That other god. The one who likes us to take his name in vein. Visitor Why were you so nervous? Maria: Hello!
Look at me! Like I say, when
your back is one of your best features you make do with what you can
get. And I’m more than ten years older
than him. What does he see in me? What do you see in me for that matter? What’s so bloody special about me? Visitor You must have overcome your nerves. Maria: Nadine makes a lethal punch. Visitor Nonetheless, if you felt the odds were so
stacked against you, that the situation was so fraught with potential
ridicule and failure, why did you continue? Maria: I wanted to. It felt right. So I did it. Visitor Despite what people thought of the age gap? Maria: Yes.
Despite that. Although I did
add a couple of years for my parents.
Not that it helped. I think I
should have added about twenty. Visitor And despite being so physically repugnant? Maria: Steady on, I didn’t see you having any
problems getting excited. Visitor I’m simple quoting you back to yourself. Maria: I did not use the word repugnant. Visitor My apologies. Maria: Are accepted, but you’re on thin ice
mister. No wonder you’re not getting
any. Never agree with a woman when
she’s being self deprecating. Surely
your mother must have taught you that.
If you had a mother, that is.
Did you? Visitor Is that a question? Maria: [Missing
his point] Yes. I mean… no. Not like that. Just a friendly enquiry. Visitor A contract is a contract. Maria: After the way you held up your end of the
deal you’re lucky I’m not asking for a plan of the whole bloody
universe. Anyway, why are you so keen
to know about me and Joe all of a sudden?
Feeling a little pang of guilt all of a sudden? Visitor We were actually talking about why you use
drink to justify actions you take which you can’t quite understand. Maria: Because I’m always drunk when these things
seem to happen. Visitor And yet you remember them with such
clarity. Maria: Well that’s because I’m not absolutely
roaring, puke up on the cat and break the TV drunk. I’m just… drunk enough. Visitor Drunk enough to listen to yourself? Maria: No.
To trust what I’m saying. When
I’m sober I know better. Visitor No.
When you’re sober, you know too much.
Too many facts, prices, arrangements, e-mail addresses, mobile phone
numbers, jobs that need doing, bills that need paying, secrets to keep, new
things to buy, programmes to watch, exercises to do, earning, and spending,
and earning again; and all the time, the noise, the sounds of traffic, of
music, of adverts. People yelling,
people arguing, people fighting. More
noise. More sensation. Made so loud that you can’t hear the woman
being attacked. The shop-fronts and
hoardings made so bright that you can’t see the destitute. Life made so fast that there’s no time to
think. Can’t stop, or you’ll lose the
race. Everyone will get ahead of
you. Got to win the race. Can’t be falling behind. Must have a bigger house, a faster car,
just like everyone else. Got to win
the race. Or what? Or you’ll die? It’s so… tragic. You cram your short lives full of so much
sensation that you can’t hear your own selves. Or me.
And then you accuse me of abandoning you. Maria: Well don’t bloody lecture me about it. It’s not my fault. It’s not any of our fault. You made us this way. Visitor I didn’t make this… monstrosity. You built your own hell. Maria: You could have intervened. Visitor It’s not my way. You want that other deity. The one that likes… Both: …having his name taken in vein. They
both laugh and relax. -------------------------------------------------------------- For
a full script e-mail scripts@jasonorbaum.co.uk |
