The Books: “Road” (Jim Cartwright)

Next book in my Daily Book Excerpt:

Next play on the script shelf is from my collected plays of Jim Cartwright: Cartwright Plays 1: Road; Bed; Two; The Rise and Fall of Little Voice (Contemporary Dramatists) (Vol 1). Road was commissioned by the Royal Court Theatre in London, and the first production of it was in 1986. It was a huge hit, and was voted, on some British poll, as the 36th most important play of the 20th century. It was an angry, political, and despairing story about England in the mid-80s. Kind of like Angels in America was seen when it first came out. A snapshot of What We Are Like Now.

Road is an actor’s dream. It’s basically a series of long monologues – juicy challenging monologues – spoken directly to the audience. Scullery, the main character, walks up and down a road, acting as a kind of tour guide for us. He points out things for us to notice, and he sets up the context for the lives of the people who live along the road. This is not, in any respects, a happy play. It’s bleak, dark, and angry. There are also lots of funny moments, too – Cartwright can be marvelously funny – but the underlying emotional themes are despair and fear.

Cartwright, by the way, as you will notice through the excerpt, is masterful at writing accents. They’re so specific, and also: HOW people speak, the way they construct their sentences … each character is completely different from the one before it. Cartwright has an unbelievably good ear for that stuff.

I also love Cartwright because he wrote the play The Rise and Fall of Little Voice specifically for the marvelous Jane Horrocks (one of those situations where her GINORMOUS talent was not being utilized, her range not explored – and so he set out to rectify the situation). It was a massive hit, and it eventually became a movie and Jane Horrocks was nominated for an Oscar. Rightly so. The movie is called Little Voice. I HIGHLY recommend it. And NOT just because Ewan McGregor is in it.

Now on to the excerpt. Two small background things: Joey is a teenager, and he has gone on hunger strike, in his parent’s house. He feels despair about the future, the prospects for his generation (this is an entirely working class and under-class play) – his young girlfriend Clare begs him to eat, his parents beg him to eat, he has locked himself in his room, and refuses to eat. Eventually, Clare joins him in his hunger strike, and the two starve to death.

EXCERPT FROM Cartwright Plays 1: Road; Bed; Two; The Rise and Fall of Little Voice (Contemporary Dramatists) (Vol 1), by Jim Cartwright.

The lights come up on Joey’s room. Two weeks later. Joey is sitting up in bed with his arm around Clare. She is sleeping. Joey’s face really shows the strain now, it is taut and white.

JOEY. I feel like England’s forcing the brain out me head. I’m sick of it. Sick of it all. People reading newspapers: ‘EUROVISION LOVERS’, ‘OUR QUEEN MUM’, ‘MAGGIE’S TEARS’, being fooled again and again. What the fuck-fuck is it? Where am I? Bin lying here two weeks now. On and on through the strain. I wear pain like a hat. Everyone’s insane. The world really is a bucket of devil sick. Every little moment’s stupid. I’m sick of people — people, stupid people. Frying the air with their mucky words, their mucky thoughts, their mucky deeds. Horrible sex being had under rotten bedding. Sickly sex being had on the waterbed. Where has man gone? Why is he so wrong? Why am I hurt all through? Every piece of me is bruised or gnawed raw, if you could see it, my heart’s like an elbow. I’ve been done through by them, it, the crushing sky of ignorance, thigh of pignorance. What did I do! What was my crime? Who do I blame? God for giving me a spark of vision? Not enough of one, not enough of the other, just enough for discontent, enough to have me right out on the edge. Not able to get anyone out here with me, not able to get in with the rest. Oh God I’m so far gone it’s too late. I’m half dead and I’m not sad or glad. I’m not sad or glad, what a fucking, bastard, bitching, cunt state to be in. I’m black inside. Bitterness has swelled like a mighty black rose inside me. Its petals are creaking against my chest. I want it out! out! out! Devil, God, Devil, God, Devil, God, save me something. Anything. There’s got to be summat will come to help us. If only we can make the right state. If I can only get myself into the right state. This is it. This is why I’m on the diet. (He looks around, remembering) Fucking hell am I in a film or what? Or snot, or what? (He is tightening) IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII bring up small white birds covered in bile and fat blood, they was my hopes. I bring up a small hard pig that was my destiny. I’d like to bring it all out but bbbbbbbbbbbbut I’ve gone all constipated on bitterness, it won’t remove itself. God give me a laxative if you got one. Ha! AArrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrgh! Oh AAArrrrrgh! (He’s sweating and straining) Come out, come out, you tight bastard. Oh no! Death suck me up through that straw inside my spine! No leave me! Oh I’m full of dark frost. Who’s done this to me! And why? Oh why? Is it worth that extra bit of business to see me suffer, is it? I blame you BUSINESS and you RELIGION its favorite friend, hand in hand YOU HAVE MURDERED THE CHILD IN MAN! MURDERERS! CUNTS! I’D LIKE TO CUT OPEN YOUR BELLIES AND SEE THE BROWN POUR!

(It should appear that he’s going to get out of bed to really kill somebody. Then Clare wakes. She puts her arm on him.)

CLARE. Joey.

JOEY. Eh?

CLARE. Joey, I feel so faint and white. I can’t hardly see my Joey.

JOEY. Don’t worry about it. There might be a message or a sign soon.

CLARE. Uh?

JOEY. You never can tell when it’s a going to come on y ou. Fuck me I wish I could sweat or something. I’m like paper.

CLARE. I’m empty and dried-out too, it’s so weird now Joe. (Silence) Joe, is my skin cracking?

JOEY. No.

CLARE. Around my mouth at the corners is there any cracking?

JOEY. (a quick glance) No.

CLARE. It feels like it is. (She starts to sing to herself, very soft.) ‘Don’t know much about history. Don’t know much about society. But I do know that I love you and I know if you’d love me too what a wonderful world this would be. What a wonderful world this would be.’

Silence.

I love you so much, Joey.

JOEY. Eh?

CLARE. I love you, my man. Perhaps if I cried you could drink up my tears.

JOEY. Be quiet now.

CLARE. It feels right funny. I can feel things very fine with my body now. Very fine like the silence within silence within silence. Joey is it death-time?

JOEY. (shocked) Stop it! You’re talking now like you’ve never talked in your life.

CLARE. Where’s it coming from?

JOEY. You! You!

CLARE. Who?

JOEY. Oh no. You’re more advanced now than me. You’re going somewhere. A state. Into a state.

CLARE. Eh?

JOEY. Are you in a trance or what?

CLARE. I don’t know.

JOEY. Just shout out things. That’s how I’ll test you. Just say things what come into your head.

CLARE. How can a? A can’t hardly speak.

JOEY. What do you mean?

CLARE. I’m so knackererd out. A feel I’m just holding on my the threads. One or two fine wet threads, the rest have dried an’ broke.

JOE. Oh my dear.

CLARE. Don’t worry. I still love you, that’s left. I keep on seeing faces, like me dad’s, me mum’s, me dad’s again. I still want to cry when I see me dad’s dismantled face. He lost his last job you know. Just think one day there might be the last job on earth. And everyone will come out to see the man lose it. They’ll all watch as he comes up to his last hour. The last hooter blow whoooooooooo oh oooooooo ooooooooooooooooo I’m being corny now, in’t a Joey? Oh my it’s white in here behind the eyes, so mist.

She closes her eyes. Joey holds her. He makes a fist. He shakes it at the audience. He shakes it up at the sky. He shakes it at the door where the family are outside. He shakes it down under the bed. Then he puts it in front of his face and bites into his hand.

Blackout.