Next script on the shelf:
Next Tennessee Williams play on the shelf is a full-length play (yes, another full-length!!) called Clothes for a Summer Hotel, included in 27 Wagons Full of Cotton And Other One-Act Plays
Produced in 1980 – this is a gorgeous play. Williams is working at the top of his game here. As is common knowledge, Williams’ sister Rose was institutionalized in the 1930s, 1940s – and ended up being brutally lobotomized. It was referred to in his family as “the operation” – and she never recovered from it. She lived in an institution for the rest of her life. Williams never forgave himself for “getting out”, and used his writing, over and over and over again, to re-visit that event. Not that his plays should be seen as biographical or autobiographical – no, they are works of art – but over and over again, we see Williams delving into the realm of madness, of what he termed “sensitivity” (sensitivity cannot exist in this world – it will be destroyed) – the realm of sensitive women.
Clothes for a Summer Hotel is the story of F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife Zelda. It is a “ghost story”, Williams tells us in the beginning. Everyone in the play is already dead – Hemingway makes an appearance, Scott and Zelda are the leads … and they move in and out of the past, the present … but they also know their own ends. They know what ended up happening, in terms of their own deaths. And yet here they are – re-enacting moments from their lives, still trying to come to terms with the past. Zelda was, of course, institutionalized. And – horrifically – she died in a fire that broke out in the asylum – and she and the other patients were in a locked ward – a door that locked from the outside – and they could not get out – and they all were incinerated. It must have been unspeakable. I can’t even think about it without shivering in horror. Williams obviously was haunted by the death of Zelda Fitzgerald – she who had always had this strange unreasoning horror of dying by fire. It was her greatest fear. Good Lord. Such horror.
Scott and Zelda had this intense symbiotic relationship – parasitic almost – I blithered about it here and here.
Clothes for a Summer Hotel begins with Scott coming to the asylum to see Zelda – who has gone mad – and who believes she will be a great ballerina. Even though she is way too old and has no talent. (Geraldine Page played Zelda in the premiere production of this play – that must have been amazing!) Scott, meanwhile, is now whoring out his talent in Hollywood (that’s how he saw it anyway) – and his body is already deteriorating from his liquor intake. He has quit drinking, but the damage is done. Zelda and Scott haven’t seen each other in a year? Something like that. Zelda is completely mad. Scott is horrified at her condition. She dances around in a bedraggled tutu. But because this is a ghost play, and people move in and out of different time zones, etc., there are premonitions of what is to come for both of these people … They are not JUST in the present moment, they have a vague awareness of what is coming …
I love this play.
It’s elegiac. It’s tragic. Hemingway’s cameo is awesome. The scene between he and Scott is most illuminating of their relationship – they were competitors – and very different sorts of men – they had a wary respect for the talent of the other – but also a hostility.
I’ll excerpt a bit from the first scene – when Scott arrives to see Zelda. Interns and doctors hover on the edges of these scenes – giving you the impression that Zelda is, indeed, imprisoned. She is mad – but there is a kind of unforgiving honesty in the insane – they see things clearly – they just can’t live with it. Zelda has that.
From Clothes for a summer hotel, by Tennessee Williams
[The intern exits into the asylum closing the doors behind him. Zelda begins a slow descent and moves downstage. Despite her increase of weight and the shapeless coat, her approach has the majesty of those purified by madness and by fire. Her eyes open very wide. Scott is barely able to hold his ground before their blaze. Zelda has to shout above the wind]
ZELDA. Is that really you, Scott? Are you my lawful husband, the celebrated F. Scott Fitzgerald, author of my life? Sorry to say you’re hard to recognize now. Why didn’t you warn me of this — startling reunion, Scott?
SCOTT. I had to come at once when the doctors advised me of your remarkable improvement.
ZELDA. — Not exactly an accurate report. — Aren’t you somewhat unseasonably dressed for a chilly autumn afternoon?
SCOTT. When I got the doctors’ report, well, I forgot the difference in weather between the West Coast and here, just hopped right onto the first plane — bought a spare shirt at a shop at the airport.
ZELDA. I see, I see, that’s why you’re dressed as if about to check in at a summer hotel.
SCOTT. It’s all right, Zelda.
ZELDA. Is it all right, Scott?
SCOTT. Since I have to fly back tomorrow. — Don’t be so standoffish, let me kiss you.
[He goes to Zelda and tentatively embraces and kisses her in a detached manner]
ZELDA. — Well.
SCOTT. I would describe that as a somewhat perfunctory response.
ZELDA. And I’d describe it as a meaninglessly conventional — gesture to have embraced at all — after all … [He draws back, wounded: she smiles, a touch of ferocity in her look] — Sorry, Goofo. It’s been so long since we’ve exchanged more than letters … And you fly back tomorrow? We have only this late afternoon in which to renew our — acquaintance.
SCOTT. [uncomfortably] Work on the Coast, film-work, is very exacting, Zelda. Inhumanly exacting. People pretend to feel but don’t feel at all.
ZELDA. Don’t they call it the world of make-believe? Isn’t it a sort of madhouse, too? You occupy one there, and I occupy one here.
SCOTT. I’m working on such a tight schedule. Never mind. Here’s the big news I bring you. I’m completing a novel, a new one at last, and it will be one that will rank with my very best, controlled as Gatsby but emotionally charged as Tender Is the —
[Pause]
ZELDA. — Good … will I be in it?
SCOTT. Not — recognizably …
ZELDA. Good. — So what is the program for us now? Shall we make a run for it and fall into a ditch to satisfy our carnal longings, Scott?
SCOTT. That was never the really important thing between us, beautiful, yes, but less important than —
ZELDA. [striking out] What was important to you was to absorb and devour!
SCOTT. I didn’t expect to find you in this — agitated mood. Zelda, I brought you a little gift. A new wedding band to replace the one you lost.
ZELDA. I didn’t lose it, Scott, I threw it away.
SCOTT. Why would you, how could you have –?
ZELDA. Scott, we’re no longer really married and I despise pretenses.
SCOTT. I don’t look at it that way.
ZELDA. Because you still pay for my confinement? Exorbitant, for torture.
SCOTT. You always want to return here, you’re not forced to, Zelda.
ZELDA. I only come back here when I know I’m too much for Mother and the conventions of Montgomery, Alabama. I am pointed out on the street as a lunatic now.
SCOTT. Whatever the reason, Zelda, you do return by choice, so don’t call it confinement. And even if you don’t want a new marriage ring, call it a ring of, of — a covenant with the past that’s always still present, dearest.
ZELDA. I don’t want it; I will not take it!
SCOTT. [with a baffled sigh] Of course we do have nonmaterial bonds, memories such as — “Do you remember before keys turned in locks — when life was a close-up, not an occasional letter — how I hated swimming naked off the rocks — but you liked nothing better?”
ZELDA. No, no, Scott, don’t try to break my heart with early romantic effusions. No, Goofo, it’s much too late!
SCOTT. I wasn’t warned to expect this cold, violent attitude in you!
ZELDA. Never in all those years of coexistence in time did you make the discovery that I have the eyes of a hawk which is a bird of nature as predatory as a husband who appropriates your life as material for his writing. Poor Scott. Before you offered marriage to the Montgomery belle, you should have studied a bit of ornithology at Princeton.
SCOTT. I don’t believe a course in ornithology was on the curriculum at Princeton in my day!
ZELDA. [distracted, looking vaguely about] What a pity! You could have been saved completely for your art — and I for mine …
SCOTT. Didn’t hear that, the wind blows your voice away unless you shout. Is it always so windy here?
[The wind blows]
ZELDA. Sunset Hill on which this cage is erected is the highest to catch the most wind to whip the flame-like skirts as red as the sisters’ skirts are black. Isn’t that why you selected this place for my confinement? [Scott moves toward her, extending his arms and gesturing toward the bench] Are you studying ballet, too?
SCOTT. [attempting to laugh] Me, studying ballet?
ZELDA. You made a gesture out of classic ballet, extending your arms toward me, then extending the right arm toward that bench which I will not go near — again.
SCOTT. Now, now, Zelda, stop play acting, come here!
ZELDA. I won’t approach that bench because of the bush next to it. Besides I’m only taking a little recess from O.T.
BECKY. [offstage voice] The head of the Harlow, the platinum of it, the bleach! — My personal salon was only a block from Goldwyn’s …
[Zelda starts drifting back to the doorway of the asylum. Scott grabs her]
SCOTT. Zelda, don’t withdraw! — What are you — Tell me, Zelda, what are you working on mostly in Occupational Therapy now, dear?
ZELDA. The career that I undertook because you forbade me to write!
SCOTT. Writing calls for discipline! Continual!
ZELDA. And drink, continual, too? No, I respect your priority in the career of writing although it preceded and eclipsed my own. I made that sacrifice to you and so elected ballet. Isadora Duncan said, “I want to teach the whole world to dance!” — I’m more selfish, just want to teach myself.
SCOTT. The strenuous exercises will keep your figure trimmer.
ZELDA. Than writing and drinking?
SCOTT. Oh, I’ve quit that.
ZELDA. Quit writing?
SCOTT. Quit drinking.
ZELDA. QUIT? DRINKING?
SCOTT. Completely.
ZELDA. Cross your heart and hope to die?
SCOTT. I cross my heart but I don’t hope to die until my new book is finished. [Scott has maneuvered Zelda toward the bench. He sits and gets her to sit] Zelda, I’ve had — several little heart disturbances lately …
ZELDA. You mean the romance? Or romances?
SCOTT. I mean — cardiac — incidents. At a movie premiere last week, as the film ended, it all started — fading out ….
ZELDA. Films always end with the fade-out.
SCOTT. I staggered so. I thought the audience would think I was drunk.
ZELDA. [sarcastically] Were they so foolish as that?
SCOTT. Luckily I had a friend with me who helped me out.
ZELDA. Oh, yes, I know about her.
SCOTT. You — she — you’d like her.
ZELDA. Certainly, if you do. Well — Scott? Let me say this quickly before I become disturbed and am hauled back in for restraint. You were not to blame. You needed a better influence, someone much more stable as a companion on the — roller-coaster ride which collapsed at the peak. You needed — her? Out there, utterly vulgar but — functioning well on that level.
SCOTT. Who are you, what are you — referring to, Zelda?
ZELDA. Who or what, which is it? Some are whats, some are whos. Which is she? — Never mind. You are in luck whichever … But can we turn this bench at an angle that doesn’t force me to look at the flaming bush here?
SCOTT. It’s such a lovely bush.
ZELDA. If you’re attracted by fire. Are you attracted by fire?
SCOTT. The leaves are — radiant, yes, they’re radiant as little torches. I feel as if they’d warm my hands if I —
ZELDA. I feel as if they’d burn me to unrecognizable ash. You see, the demented often have the gift of Cassandra, the gift of —
SCOTT. The gift of –?
ZELDA. Premonition! I WILL DIE IN FLAMES!
SCOTT. Please, Zelda, don’t shout, don’t draw attention. The doctors will think my visits disturb you — I won’t be allowed to come back.
ZELDA. Visits? Did you say visits? That is plural. I wouldn’t say that your presence here today qualifies as a very plural event.
[She starts toward the gates. Scott rises to follow]
SCOTT. You’re going inside?
ZELDA. I have my own little Victrola. Mama sent it to me for Christmas. I’m preparing for Diaghilev; he’s offered me an audition. I’m going to do a Bach fugure with almost impossible tempi I was told. Hah!
SCOTT. Zelda, I didn’t come all the way out here to listen to a Bach fugure, and watching you dance is a pleasure I’ve — exhausted …
ZELDA. Sorry. But I’m working against time!
