The Books: “Same Time Next Year” (Bernard Slade)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

Next on my script shelf:

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Same Time, Next Year: A Comedy in Two Acts, by Bernard Slade. Playwrights dream of writing a play as successful as this one. Bernard Slade was the Philip Barry of the 1970s. This play was a smash hit on Broadway – with Ellen Burstyn and Charles Grodin (man, would have loved to see it) – and then it was turned into a smash hit film (with Ellen Burstyn and Alan Alda – kinda wished they had maintained Grodin – but I understand – realities of show business) – for which Bernard Slade also wrote the screenplay.

This play is a joy to read. Just like Philip Barry’s plays are a joy to read. I don’t know – they remind me of one another. The dialogue is rollicking – you get the sense of a finely tuned craftsman at work – He just knows what the hell he is doing. It’s FUNNY – you read it and you can FEEL the jokes – they are written into the dialogue (this is not always the case with plays) – Slade was a humorist. And yet – same as Philip Barry – the humor never seems gimmicky or outside of the action of the play. The characters themselves are funny – and this is a comedic universe – where people say funny things. I love playwrights who can do that.

Even though Same Time Next Year is funny – I mean, pretty much every other line is funny – it has a relentless ba-dum-ching rhythm – the heart is not sacrificed, the sense of reality is not sacrificed. These are two people – who have a real relationship – the stakes are high – they run the gamut.

The story is well-known: Two people (married – but not to each other) meet year after year after year – for one weekend a year – to have sex in a nice little country inn. It’s only one weekend – after that weekend, they go back to their lives, their kids, their spouses – but one weekend a year, they have a liaison. Of course it is about WAY more than “just sex” – but they turn themselves inside out trying to justify it.

This one-weekend-a-year affair goes on for 25 years. Each scene is a different year.

I’ll excerpt the opening scene – which is their first night together – the night they met. They think it’s going to be a one-night stand – but neither of them have ever cheated on their spouses before – they’re not really one-night-stand people … but – what Slade does here is set up a couple of things: these two people are NEUROTIC. And also: these two people, from the get-go, have a huge connection. It cannot be denied. They do not understand it, it frightens them – since they are already married – but they feel it. This is what makes the one night stand turn into a 25 year affair.

All of that is set up in this opening scene – they have just met – they have just spent the night together.

Just watch how relentlessly funny Slade is. If this is played right, there should be a laugh on almost every other line.

EXCERPT FROM Same Time, Next Year: A Comedy in Two Acts, by Bernard Slade

ACT ONE SCENE 1

THE TIME: A day in February, 1951

THE PLACE. A bed-sitting room in the cottage of a Spanish style inn near Mendecino, North of San Francisco. It is a cozy comfortable room, large enough to contain a double bed, dressing table, chintz-covered sofa, a baby grand piano, wood burning fireplace and an ottoman. There are two leaded pane glass windows, a closet, a door leading to the bathroom and another door which opens onto the patio-entrance to the cottage. The room’s aura of permanence is not an illusion. The decor has been the same for the past 25 years and will not change for the next 25.

AT RISE. George and Doris are in bed. George is sitting up against the headboard of the bed rigidly staring into space. Doris is lying in a sleeping position but her eyes are wide open. Very slowly and carefully George gets out of the bed. When she feels George move, Doris shuts her eyes and pretends to be asleep. George picks up his jacket and puts it on, then he finds a sock and puts that on. As he is putting on the second sock Doris turns to watch him

DORIS. That’s a very sharp looking outfit.

GEORGE. Hello.

DORIS. Hi.

GEORGE. Did I wake you?

DORIS. I was awake.

GEORGE. How’d you sleep?

DORIS. Fine, thank you. [Doris reaches for her petticoat which is on the dressing table stool beside the bed. She pulls it under the sheet and puts the sheet over her head while she gets into her slip. George meanwhile has found his trousers and quickly puts them on] What time is it?

GEORGE. My watch is on the bedside table.

DORIS. [Picks up watch] Ten to twelve!

GEORGE. No, it’s twenty-five after eight. The stem is broken. It’s three hours and twenty-five minutes fast.

DORIS. Why don’t you get it fixed?

GEORGE. I was going to. I got used to it.

DORIS. Doesn’t it mix you up?

GEORGE. No. I’m very quick with figures.

DORIS. Why are you looking at me like that?

GEORGE. We’re in a lot of trouble.

DORIS. Yeah?

GEORGE. Why do you have to look so luminous? It would make it a lot easier if you woke up with puffy eyes and blotchy skin like everyone else.

DORIS. I guess God figured chubby thighs were enough.

GEORGE. Look, this is not going to just go away. We’ve got to talk about it.

DORIS. Okay. [She gets out of bed, the sheet around her, and starts for the bathroom]

GEORGE. Where are you going?

DORIS. I’m going to brush my teeth.

GEORGE. Dorothy, please sit down. [Doris starts to speak] Please sit down and let me say this. [She sits on the end of the bed] Dorothy, first of all, I want you to know last night was the most beautiful, wonderful, crazy thing that’s ever happened to me and I’ll never forget it — or you.

DORIS. Doris.

GEORGE. What?

DORIS. My name is Doris.

GEORGE. Your name is Doris. I’ve been calling you Dorothy all night. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?

DORIS. I didn’t expect us to end up like we did. Then I did try to tell you but you weren’t listening.

GEORGE. When?

DORIS. Right in the middle of everything.

GEROGE. It was incredible wasn’t it?

DORIS. It was — nice. Especially the last time.

GEORGE. I’m an animal. I don’t know what got into me. What was the matter with the first two times?

DORIS. What? Oh — well, the first time was kinda fast and the second — look, I feel funny talking about this.

GEORGE. It was a very beautiful thing, Doris. There was nothing disgusting or dirty in what we did.

DORIS. Then how come you look so down in the dumps?

GEORGE. My wife is going to kill me.

DORIS. How is she going to find out?

GEORGE. She knows.

DORIS. You said she was in New Jersey.

GEORGE. It doesn’t matter. She knows.

DORIS. How?

GEORGE. Was it as incredible for you as it was for me?

DORIS. Do all men like to talk about it a lot afterward?

GEORGE. Why? You think I’m some sort of pervert or something?

DORIS. No. I just wondered. See, I was a virgin when I got married. At least sort of.

GEORGE. Sort of?

DORIS. Well, I was pregnant but I don’t count that.

GEORGE. Doris, that counts.

DORIS. I mean it was by the man I married.

GEORGE. Oh, I’m sorry.

DORIS. [putting on her blouse] That’s okay. Harry and me would’ve gotten married anyway. It just speeded things up a bit. Turns out I get pregnant if we drink from the same cup. [He looks at her] What’s the matter?

GEORGE. It’s okay. Trojans are very reliable.

DORIS. Who are?

GEORGE. Never mind. I’m in a lot of trouble. I think I love you. It’s crazy! It’s really crazy! I don’t even know if you’ve read “Catcher in the Rye”.

DORIS. I didn’t graduate high school.

GEORGE. You see? I don’t even care! Of course, I should’ve known this would happen. There’s something about me I didn’t tell you.

DORIS. What? [She puts on her skirt]

GEORGE. When it comes to life I have a brown thumb.

DORIS. What do you mean?

GEORGE. Nothing I do ever turns out right. Ever. The first time I had sex I was eighteen years old. We were in the back seat of a parked 1938 Dodge sedan. Right in the middle of it we were rear ended.

DORIS. Gee, that’s terrible. Did you have insurance?

GEORGE. You know the song they were playing on the juke box last night when we met?

DORIS. No?

GEORGE. “If I Knew You Were Coming I’d’ve Baked A Cake”!

DORIS. So?

GEORGE. So that’s going to be “our song”! Other people would get “Be my Love” or “Hello Young Lovers”. Me — I get “If I Knew You Were Coming I’d’ve Baked A Cake”!

DORIS. You’re very romantic. I like that.

GEORGE. I think I’m in love with you. Now you want to know the luck I have? I’m happily married!

DORIS. Are you Jewish?

GEORGE. No.

DORIS. Well, how come you’re so guilty?

GEORGE. Don’t you feel guilty?

DORIS. Are you kidding? Half my high school became nuns.

GEORGE. Catholics have rules about this sort of thing.

DORIS. We have rules about everything. That’s what’s so great about being Catholic. You always know where you stand.

GEORGE. I tell you, Doris, I feel like slitting my wrists.

DORIS. Are you Italian?

GEORGE. What’s with you and nationalities?

DORIS. You’re so emotional.

GEORGE. I happen to be a CPA. I can be as logical as the next person.

DORIS. You don’t strike me as an accountant type.

GEORGE. It’s very simple. My whole life has been a mess. Figures always come out right. I like that. What are you?

DORIS. I’m Italian.

GEORGE. Why aren’t you more emotional?

DORIS. When you grow up in a large Italian family, it’s enough to turn you off emotion for life.

GEORGE. I wondered why you weren’t crying or yelling.

DORIS. I did before in the bathroom.

GEORGE. Crying?

DORIS. Yelling.

GEORGE. I didn’t hear you.

DORIS. I stuffed a towel in my mouth.

GEORGE. I’m sorry.

DORIS. That’s all right. There’s no sense crying over spilt milk.

GEORGE. You’re right.

DORIS. Then how come we feel so terrible?

GEORGE. Because we’re two decent, honest people and this thing is tearing us apart. I mean I know it wasn’t our fault but I keep seeing the faces of my children and the look of betrayal in their eyes. I keep thinking of our marriage vows, the trust my wife has placed in me, the experiences we’ve shared together. And you know the worst part of it all? While I’m thinking of all these things, I have this fantastic hard on.

DORIS. I really wish you hadn’t said that.

GEORGE. I’m sorry. I just feel we should be totally honest with each other.

DORIS. No, it’s not that. I have to go to confession.

GEORGE. We’re both crazy. I mean this sort of thing happens to millions of people every day. We’re just normal, healthy human beings who did a perfectly healthy, normal thing. You don’t use actual names in confession do you?

DORIS. No.

GEORGE. May I ask you something?

DORIS. Sure.

GEORGE. Would you go to bed with me again?

DORIS. George, we can’t!

GEORGE. Why not?

DORIS. We’ll feel worse afterwards!

GEORGE. No. I’m over that now; I just remembered something.

DORIS. What?

GEORGE. The Russians have the bomb! We could all be dead tomorrow!

DORIS. George, you’re clutching at straws!

GEORGE. Don’t you understand? We’re both grown up people who have absolutely nothing to be ashamed or afraid of!!! [There is a knock at the door. They both freeze] Just a second! [Then they go into frantic action. He attempts to straighten up the room. She grabs her hat, jacket, purse and starts for the bathroom] Don’t go into the bathroom!

DORIS. Why not?

GEORGE. It’s the first place they look! Just a second! I’m coming! [She heads for the window and climbs out. He spots her girdle on the hearth, grabs it and stuffs it part way into his pocket. He opens the door about six inches and squeezes outside, closing the door behind him. We hear a muffled exchange offstage before he reenters carrying a breakfast tray which he places on the coffee table. He looks around for Doris, sees open window and crosses to it] Doris? Doris? [While he is looking out the window, she comes through the front door]

DORIS. You have a woman in here?

GEORGE. [startled, he turns to face her] It’s okay. I was very calm. It was old Mr. Chalmers with my breakfast. He didn’t suspect a thing.

DORIS. He didn’t ask about your girdle?

GEORGE. What? [He looks at his pocket and sees her girdle] Oh, great! Now he probably thinks I’m a homo!

DORIS. [She takes the girdle and puts it into her purse] What do you care?

GEORGE. I stay here every year.

DORIS. You do, why?

GEORGE. I have a friend who went into the wine business near here. I fly out the same weekend every year to do his books.

DORIS. From New Jersey?

GEORGE. He was my first client. It’s kind of a sentimental thing.

DORIS. Oh.

GEORGE. Doris, there’s something I want to tell you.

DORIS. What?

GEORGE. I know I must appear very smooth and glib — sexually. Well, I want you to know that since I’ve been married this is the very first time I’ve done this.

DORIS. Don’t worry, I could tell. Do you mind if I have some of your breakfast?

GEORGE. Go ahead. I’m not hungry. It’s funny when I was single I was no good at quick, superficial affairs. I had to be able to really like the person before … What do you mean — you could tell? In what way could you tell?

DORIS. What? Oh — I don’t know — the way you tried to get your pants off over your shoes and then tripped and hit your head on the coffee table. Little things like that.

GEORGE. It’s great to be totally honest with another person isn’t it?

DORIS. It sure is.

GEORGE. I haven’t been totally honest wtih you.

DORIS. No?

GEORGE. No. I told you I was a married man with two children.

DORIS. You’re not?

GEORGE. No. I’m a married man with three children. I thought it would make me seem less married. Look, I just didn’t think it through. Anyway, it’s been like a lead weight inside me all morning. I mean denying little Debbie like that. I don’t normally behave like this, I was under a certain stress. You understand?

DORIS. Sure, we all do dopey things sometimes. How come your wife doesn’t travel with you?

GEORGE. Phyllis won’t go on a plane.

DORIS. Is she afraid of flying?

GEORGE. Crashing.

DORIS. [Noticing that George is staring at her] Why are you looking at me like that?

GEORGE. I love the way you eat.

DORIS. You wanta share some coffee with me?

GEORGE. No thank you. Doris, do you believe that two perfect strangers can look at each other across a crowded room and suddenly want to possess each other in every conceivable way possible?

DORIS. No.

GEORGE. Then how did this whole thing start?

DORIS. It started when you sent me over that steak in the restaurant.

GEORGE. They didn’t serve drinks. They’re known for their steaks.

DORIS. Then when I looked over and you toasted me with your fork with a big piece of steak on it, that really made me laugh. I never saw anybody do that before. What made you do it?

GEORGE. Impulse. Usually I never do that sort of thing. I have a friend who says that life is saying “yes”. The most I’ve ever been able to manage is “maybe”.

DORIS. So then why did you do it?

GEORGE. I was lonely and you looked so vulnerable. You had a run in your stocking and your lipstick was smeared.

DORIS. You thought I looked cheap?

GEORGE. I thought you looked beautiful.

DORIS. I really should be going. The nuns will be wondering what happened to me.

GEORGE. Nuns?

DORIS. Yeah. It didn’t seem right to bring up when we met yesterday in the restaurant but I was on my way to retreat.

GEORGE. Retreat?

DORIS. It’s right near here. I go every year at this time when Harry takes the kids to Bakersfield.

GEORGE. What’s in Bakersfield?

DORIS. His mother. It’s her birthday.

GEORGE. She doesn’t mind that you don’t go?

DORIS. No, she hates me.

GEORGE. Why?

DORIS. I got pregnant.

GEORGE. Her son had something to do with that.

DORIS. She blocks that out of her mind. You see, he was in his first year of dental college and he had to quit and take a job selling waterless cooking. And so now every year on her birthday I go on retreat.

GEORGE. To think about God?

DORIS. Well, Him too, sure. See I have three little kids. I got pregnant the first time when I was eighteen and so I never really had any time to think about what I want. Never mind … sometimes I think I’m crazy.

GEORGE. Why?

DORIS. Well, take my life. I live in a two bedroom duplex in downtown Oakland, we have a 1948 Kaiser, a blond three piece dinette set, Motorola TV, and we go bowling at least once a week. I mean what else could anyone ask for? But sometimes things get me down, you know? It’s dumb!

GEORGE. I don’t think it’s dumb.

DORIS. You don’t? Boy, I can really talk to you. It’s amazing. I find myself saying things to you that I didn’t know I thought. I noticed that yesterday right after we met in the restaurant.

GEORGE. We had instant rapport! Did you notice that too?

DORIS. No, but I know we really hit it off. Harry’s not much of a talker. How about your wife. Do you two talk a lot?

GEORGE. Doris, naturally we’re both curious about each other’s husband and wife. But rather than dwelling on it and letting it spoil everything why don’t we do this. I’ll tell you two stories one showing the best side of my wife and the other showing the worst. Then you do the same about your husband and then let’s forget that. Okay?

DORIS. Okay.

GEORGE. I’ll go first. I’ll start with the worst side. Phyllis knows about us.

DORIS. Now you said that before. How could she know?

GEORGE. She has this thing in her head.

DORIS. Oh, you mean like a plate?

GEORGE. Plate?

DORIS. My uncle has one of those. He was wounded in the war and they put this steel plate in his head and now he says he can always tell when it’s going to rain.

GEORGE. I’m in a lot of trouble.

DORIS. Why?

GEORGE. I find everything you say absolutely fascinating.

DORIS. Tell me about your wife’s plate.

GEORGE. No, it’s not a plate — it’s more like a bell. I could be a million miles away, but if I even look at another girl she knows it. Last night at 1:22 I just know she sat bolt upright in bed with her head going, ding, ding, ding, ding!

DORIS. How’d you know it was 1:22?

GEORGE. My watch said 4:47.