by David Mamet
BOOKS BY DAVID MAMET AVAILABLE FBOM TCG
The Anarchist
Keep Your Pantheon (and School)
Race
A PLAY BY DAVID MAMET
THEATRE COMMUNICATIONS GROUPNEW YORK2012
The Anarchist is copyright © 2012 by David Mamet
The Anarchist is published by Theatre Communications Group, Inc., 520 Eighth Avenue, 24th Floor, New York, NY 10018-4156
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The publication of The Anarchist by David Mamet, through TCG’s Book Program, is made possible in part by the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of Governor Andrew Cuomo and the New York State Legislature.
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Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
ISBN: 978-1-55936-428-7
Book design and composition by Lisa Govan Cover art and design by aka
First Edition, December 2012
This play is dedicated to Patti and Debra
Contents
The Anarchist
Chaque génération doit dans une relative opacité
découvrir sa mission, la remplir ou trahir.
— Frantz Fanon
Les damnés de la terre
PRODUCTION HISTORY
The Anarchist premiered on Broadway on December 2, 2012, at the John Golden Theatre (Producers: Jeffrey Richards; Jerry Frankel; Howard and Janet Kagan; Catherine Schreiber; Jam Theatricals; Luigi and Rose Caiola; Gutterman Chernoff MXKC; Kit Seidel; Broadway Across America; Amy and Phil Mickelson; James Fuld, Jr.; Carlos Arana/Bard Theatricals; Will Trice). The production was directed by David Mamet, with scenic and costume design by Patrizia Von Brandenstein, lighting design by Jeff Croiter and sound design by Peter Fitzgerald; the production stage manager was William Joseph Barnes. The cast was:
CATHY Patti LuPone
ANN Debra Winger
CHARACTERS
Cathy and Ann, two women
SCENE
An office
Ann, seated at a desk. A telephone is on the desk. An intercom sits on a conference table. Also on the desk are several files, a loosely bound manuscript and several books. A briefcase sits on the floor. Cathy is standing.
ANN: Will you sit down? How are you?
CATHY: No, I think I’m well. Thank you for asking.
ANN: What have you been doing?
CATHY: I’ve been studying. As usual.
ANN: And what have you learned?
CATHY: In the larger sense . . .
ANN: . . . all right.
CATHY: I hope that I’ve learned to be reasonable. At least I have studied it. Most importantly.
ANN: Most importantly.
CATHY: Yes.
ANN: Reason more than patience?
CATHY: One might think the pressing study would be patience. But patience, of course, implies an end.
ANN: “Patience implies an end.”
CATHY: Well, yes.
ANN: As?
CATHY: One may be patient only for something.
ANN: Such as?
CATHY: A deferred desire, or the cessation of discomfort . . .
ANN: Revenge?
CATHY: Well, that would fall within the rubric of desire deferred.
ANN: And Reason teaches?
CATHY: Reason would teach the abandonment of the unfulfillable wish; and, so, of the need for patience. It therefore may be said to be the higher study.
(Cathy gestures back, toward upstage. Pause.)
Lovely girl.
ANN: Yes?
CATHY: In the anteroom. (Pause) I find when conversation stalls it never indicates a want of subject—one may always talk about the weather—but rather some subject’s repression. What is it?
ANN: I’m leaving.
CATHY: Yes, we were expecting that announcement quite some time. Well. (Pause) Everything ends. That is neither a new nor a monumental understanding. But it’s true.
ANN (Points to the large manuscript on her desk): I’ve been reading your book.
CATHY: Is it a book?
ANN: Isn’t it?
CATHY: Well. You are the first to read it.
ANN: I’m honored.
CATHY: And, you know, I’ve been thinking of it, so long, as a . . .
ANN: . . . “A” . . .?
CATHY: A manuscript, a “work-in-progress” . . . A “collection of . . .”
ANN: Why would that not be a book?
CATHY: No, I’ll take your comment as an endorsement. Thank you.
ANN: You’re welcome, Cathy.
CATHY: If it is a book, it remains only to see what a publisher . . . And what the Public, but, of course, I am ahead of myself.
ANN: No, of course it’s a book . . . (Picks up the manuscript and reads) “When he came. The first time. He questioned me.”
CATHY: . . . oh, yes . . .
ANN (Reading): “And I said, in answer to him, ‘I revere Jesus, though I do not worship him. But I have the utmost respect, and I might say “love,” for those who do.’” It’s quite beautiful.
CATHY: You chose that phrase purposefully.
ANN: In order to?
CATHY: To compliment me.
ANN: No. But I would have. As with much of the book.
CATHY: Thank you.
ANN: And that was the first meeting.
CATHY: What was the first meeting?
ANN: You describe here . . .
CATHY: With?
ANN: The priest.
CATHY: The meeting with the priest?
ANN: Yes?
CATHY: The first time? I don’t know if that was it. But some time. During that first year.
ANN: In the first year yes.
CATHY: Not regularly. He came, of course, as part of the rotation.
ANN: The rabbi also came, during that time.
CATHY: That’s right, and the Protestant . . .
ANN: Yes.
CATHY: . . . minister. The word is minister. (Pause) I forgot a French verb yesterday.
ANN: The minister.
CATHY: Came regularly.
ANN: Would you like some coffee.
CATHY: No, thank you.
ANN: Did they give you breakfast.
CATHY: I wasn’t hungry. (Pause) “Who came when.” Poor clerks. Copying Notations in the Logs, no one would see.
ANN: I saw them.
CATHY: I meant no disrespect.
ANN: I understand.
(Pause. Then, simultaneously:)
CATHY: How is your daughter? ANN: And during that time . . .
CATHY: I’m sorry, go ahead.
ANN: Thank you. And, during that time, you also met with the rabbi.
CA
THY: I met with them all.
ANN: But, particularly?
CATHY: The rabbi. Why “particularly?”
ANN: Because.
CATHY: Some people. Are born. Into a tradition. In which they perhaps feel other-than-comfortable.
ANN: They . . .
CATHY: Or, better, they, later in life, may discover a covenant, in which, for the first time, they find comfort.
ANN: A covenant? . . .
CATHY: A home. A mate. Or a profession. People, late in life, for example, may discover their true sexuality, or . . . the parallels are obvious. Mine dealt with Faith.
ANN: Your?
CATHY: Revelation.
ANN: . . . your revelation.
CATHY: Of Christ.
ANN: But you continued . . . (She consults notes) During the first years, to meet with the rabbi.
CATHY: That’s right.
ANN: After you had discovered this new Covenant.
CATHY: Do you know? I didn’t want to insult him.
ANN: Really . . .
CATHY: The others came so seldom. And the rabbi was additionally . . .
ANN: Yes?
CATHY: A sort of “entertainment,” faute de mieux. (Pause) I forgot a French verb. Yesterday.
ANN: And you were reading . . .?
CATHY: Actually, I was writing.
ANN: In French.
CATHY: Yes.
ANN: What were you writing?
CATHY: An attempt at a Translation.
ANN: Of your book.
CATHY: Oh very good.
ANN: That’s right?
CATHY: Yes.
ANN: An attempt at a translation. But you speak French.
CATHY: I did. (Pause) Someone asked me, “Do you play an instrument?” I said, “No,” with some regret, and then remembered that I played the piano all my life. How about that?
(Pause.)
ANN: You spoke French fluently.
CATHY: As one does. With the vocabulary of one’s interests. A sort of “waiter’s French.”
ANN: And what were your interests?
CATHY: And the language of theology is rather abstruse.
ANN: Your interest, then, was in theology?
CATHY: Well, in hindsight, what else would you call it?
ANN: You were translating your book.
CATHY: I was attempting to.
ANN: And you forgot a verb.
CATHY: I did.
ANN: But you must have had a dictionary.
CATHY: I thought that to use the dictionary, would be admitting, a, a . . . No, I’m getting old. An “unworthiness.”
ANN: But, you read widely, in French.
CATHY: Well. That was the Language of the Movement.
ANN: Of the Movement.
CATHY: Yes.
(Pause.)
ANN: Have you read them since? Those books?
CATHY: Those books.
ANN: Yes.
CATHY: Would they be allowed here?
ANN: Well—that’s a fair question.
CATHY: But, do you know. I’ve thought about them.
ANN: The books.
CATHY: And, in my memory, I couldn’t make heads or tails of them.
ANN: Today.
CATHY: No. Nor sort out their attraction. No, that’s not true. They were attractive as they were incendiary.
ANN: “Revolutionary.”
CATHY: If you will.
ANN: In their ideas.
CATHY: Not in their ideas, no. What were they? Finally? (Pause) They were essentially a sort of chant.
ANN (Reads): “Words not meant to misdirect are wasted.”
CATHY: Well, there you are . . . and their absence of meaning allowed us . . . or, we understood them. As a celebration of the transgressive. Because they had no meaning.
(Pause.)
ANN: They wanted Revolution.
CATHY: They?
ANN: The writers.
CATHY: They wanted . . . I suppose.
ANN: And you found it attractive.
CATHY: As the young do. No, it was thrilling.
ANN: And now?
(Pause.)
CATHY: They’re quite immoral. Don’t you think? The French.
ANN: Tell me. Why?
CATHY: They hold the view the world is an illusion.
ANN: Is that their view?
CATHY: Oh, yes. No wonder it sparked terrorism.
ANN: Did it?
CATHY: If nothing has meaning save that we ascribe to it. What reality is there, for example, in another’s suffering? As a result of which we find much tragedy. (Pause) No wonder they tend to lose wars.
ANN: As in Algeria.
CATHY: Well, yes. (Pause) Much tragedy . . .
ANN: As Guillaume’s, for example.
CATHY: “Speaking of Algeria.”
ANN: That’s right.
CATHY: But the meaninglessness—let me be more precise—it was facing the meaninglessness which led me to faith.
ANN: It led you to faith.
CATHY: Because, do you see, they’re the same two choices.
ANN: The same two as?
CATHY: The bureaucrat and her make-work files. To rebel. Or to submit. And each is unacceptable.
ANN: Is there a third choice?
CATHY: Thank you. And that is the essence of the book.
ANN: That the third choice is Faith.
CATHY: What else could it be? And to believe . . . in the possibility of another choice, is to long for God. And to discover it is Faith.
ANN: Faith without certainty.
CATHY: If there were certainty, why would it be Faith?
(Pause.)
ANN: Guillaume had Faith.
CATHY: Faith. Did he?
ANN (Takes a book from her desk and reads): “The growth . . .”
CATHY: He had certainty.
ANN (Continues reading): “The growth of consciousness, causing that pain which may only be . . .” Although a better rendering would be “the growth of conscience” don’t you think?
CATHY: It’s the same word, in French.
ANN: But “conscience” here would be, the better rendering.
CATHY: You may be right. Yes. I think you’re right.
ANN: But that was not the translation on the poster.
CATHY: On the poster, no. Not on the poster.
ANN: Quote: “The growth of consciousness, causing that pain, which may only be expunged through violence.”
CATHY: That’s what the poster said.
ANN: “Consciousness.”
CATHY: Yes.
ANN: Why?
CATHY: Your point is that a translation as “conscience,” that “‘conscience’ must lead to violence,” would have been recognized as absurd.
ANN: That’s right.
CATHY: As absurd and monstrous.
ANN: Monstrous, yes.
CATHY: In any case as shocking. Or, say, certainly more brutal. The original was shocking.
ANN: And yet.
CATHY: Go on.
ANN: Many were seduced by it.
CATHY: Many were.
ANN: And, I would assume. That it was more seductive in French, which, as you say, is the language of Philosophy.
CATHY: Yes.
ANN: And which additionally carried the romance of being Foreign.
CATHY: Well: to the young, the foreign idea is seductive.
ANN: Why is that?
CATHY: As to the young, everything is foreign. Which is why they are the revolutionaries.
ANN: Because?
CATHY: It’s easy. One may easily “make things anew” according to one’s insights if one possesses no experience. The French word was “seduire” to seduce.
ANN: “To seduce.”
CATHY: “Seduire.” And why would I forget it? It’s the same word. Funny.
ANN: That was the verb.
CATHY: That’s right.
ANN: And you two spoke it.
CATHY: French.
> ANN: Yes.
CATHY: Guillaume and I.
ANN: In Algeria.
CATHY: That’s right. I wrote of it, in . . .
ANN: No, I’ve marked it. (She reads) “‘Ecoute,’ he would say, which was, to me, a magic incantation.” You say he affected not to understand English.
CATHY: That’s right.
ANN: But he did understand.
CATHY: He spoke it perfectly.
ANN: But?
CATHY: He thought it the language of Colonialism.
ANN: More than French.
CATHY: That’s right.
ANN: But he was fighting the Colonialism of the French.
CATHY: Well, retrospectively, of course, it’s all irrational. And yet they discount Religion. As based on Faith.
(Pause.)
ANN: You wrote in French . . .
CATHY: Then.
ANN: Yes.
CATHY: Did I . . .?
ANN: The Speech.
CATHY: . . . in Algeria . . .
ANN: And it was quoted.
CATHY: All right.
ANN: And published.
CATHY: Published.
ANN: You knew that.
CATHY: I’m not sure I knew it.
ANN: That the speech was published?
CATHY: After the, the . . .
ANN: You knew that. The pamphlet was found. In the apartment.
CATHY: Many things were found in the apartment, which were not mine.
ANN: No. I didn’t say the pamphlet was yours; I said the speech.
CATHY: The text of the speech.
ANN: Yes.
CATHY: That’s right.
ANN: But the pamphlet could have been yours, too. It was essentially yours.
CATHY: As “the ideas” were mine?
ANN: No. As you “held things in common.” Then. Didn’t you? You “did not believe in private property”?
(Pause.)
CATHY: Oh, my.
ANN: Isn’t that what you said? That all pertaining to “the Individual.”
CATHY: I . . .
ANN: Even life . . .
CATHY: . . . the young are easily corrupted.
ANN: . . . had no personal meaning.
CATHY: No, I.
ANN: That, possessions—like insights—were the property of all. As all was the property of all, and, so, could be taken by any.
CATHY: I . . .
ANN: Meaning you could take it. It was in the speech.
