by Neil LaBute
The ARTIST reaches into his underwear and feels his cock. He continues to speak as he does this.
ARTIST But I digress …
The ARTIST removes his hand from his underwear and looks out at the audience. Nods and then indicates the SUBJECT.
ARTIST If I was to do this—what I’m about to do to this subject—at my home, in the privacy of my own place … well then, it’d just be sex and that’d be that. Now, I have given him a pill, a muscle relaxer … to calm his nerves, that is true … so maybe you could argue that it’s something else … abuse. Assault. Or rape, even. Yes. “Rape.” So many folks love to rush to that judgment when there is sex involved … when there’s a man and a woman involved, or two guys, even … oh yes, they do. But that is not true in this case. If we’d met at a bar or in school or something like that then maybe, maybe you could call it that if I gave him a pill and then had my way with him but that is not the case here … no. Not at all. (Points to the SUBJECT.) He’s fully aware of what we’re doing here tonight. He has said Yes and given me his okay and signed a release even. Oh yes, he has. (Smiles.) I covered my ass, don’t you worry about that! Have to these days. And so I did. (Pointing.) Do not let that look on his face fool you: this subject knows EXACTLY what he’s gotten himself into. (Beat.) Trust me.
The ARTIST smiles, yawns, and then sniffs his hand several times. Reaches over with both hands and pulls down the back of the SUBJECT’s pants.
ARTIST This one’s an art student. Studying over there at the university. I think he even gets some credit for doing this … extra credit or that kind of thing. Counts as a “work/study” sort of deal, being with a person like me … man of my stature. Emerging artist. (Smiling.) That MacArthur grant counts for a little something, now, doesn’t it? Yes, it sure does …
The ARTIST reaches down and pulls his underwear down and off. Pulls them up to his face in his hands and smells them. Deeply.
ARTIST Mmmmmmmmmm. I fucking love “art.” Don’t you? (Beat.) I LOVE it …
The ARTIST reaches over and pulls the tape off the SUBJECT’s mouth.
He starts to protest but the ARTIST slowly shoves the underwear into his mouth. A bit at a time. Covering his mouth back over with the tape.
ARTIST HOWEVER: Even artists have to be careful today. To not be silenced … to not be accused. (Smiles.) To not get sued. All that shit. It’s true. (Beat.) These are dangerous times, people … but hey … you know that. (Beat.) That’s why I do this exactly the same way. Each time … every time … because that’s what makes it ART. Hell, I’m not even gay and neither is he, so, I mean … it’s gotta be ART! (Smiles.) Right? (Beat.) … what else you gonna call it, if not that? (Shrugs.) You tell me …
The ARTIST points down at the SUBJECT’s bare ass. Indicating as he speaks.
ARTIST This is my canvas. Right here. This soft white flesh. This sweet pink hole … this one … here. (Slips a finger inside him.) Blank. Perfect. Untouched. He’s promised me that’s the case. That he’s never done this before … had a man in his ass. And I believe him, from the looks of it. How it feels in there. I don’t think he has … (He removes his finger and he tastes it.) Nope. That’s tight. Nice and tight …
The ARTIST stops now, standing there with his cock in his hand and talking to the audience.
ARTIST Watch me now, ladies and gentlemen, as I paint another portrait in this subject’s ass with my cock. Paint his backside with my jizz like Mr. Jackson Pollock before me. I mean, paint. Cum. What does it really it matter …? These are simply the tools of the trade. The rest … is … semantics.
The ARTIST spits on his hand and rubs the saliva up and down his shaft. He puts his cock inside the SUBJECT. The SUBJECT screams out in a muffled voice as his body is violated.
ARTIST Listen to that: the sound of my art. Look in his eyes: the effect of my work as I’m creating. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Don’t you think? (Beat.) Two thousand years of Western History played out as metaphor … art and politics fighting it out … as they are destined to do … time and time again. Forever and always.
The ARTIST shoves his cock in and out of the SUBJECT. Back and forth. Holding his ass with his two hands and thrusting. Over and over.
ARTIST But I digress …
The SUBJECT continues to scream out. His voice muffled by the underwear and the tape.
ARTIST I can’t lie to you … I love my work. I do. And look at this. The things I make with it. The beauty of my creation. (He reaches down and touches the SUBJECT and his ass. Pulls up two fingers covered in blood.) That shit is just … lovely. No, it’s more than that. More than “lovely.” This is ART. And why? Because I say so. And I’m an artist. So I should know … (Beat.) Right?
The ARTIST wipes his fingers on the SUBJECT’s ass and continues. He finally starts to climax and bends his head down. With a final thrust he finishes. Emptying himself inside his subject.
ARTIST Oh yeah … oh yeah … oh fuck yes … (He stops and gathers himself.) Now THAT is a work of art. Right there. (Pointing.) That is fucking beautiful. And all the pictures and postcards and entries in magazines and journals will never see it the way that you have … all of you here tonight … watching me as I worked. As I created. Sitting there and watching me and letting it happen … oh yes … you know you did.
The ARTIST pulls his cock out and wipes it on the SUBJECT’s ass. Pulls his underwear back up around himself.
ARTIST There. Always have to sign your work.
The ARTIST taps the SUBJECT on the ass with affection. Leans on him as he finishes talking with us.
ARTIST So many people’ve paved the way for me and what I do … people banging away on themselves or others … cutting themselves up and doing shit to make their point … Abramović … Emin … hell, even Sulkowicz. (Smiling.) Bet she got sick of lugging that fucking mattress around during the wintertime! Don’t you think? On some of those snowy days … when it got real cold out? Oh well. Nobody could tell her NO and it was her right and that’s free speech and all that … but damn! I bet it sucked … right around February or so … (Laughs.) But she did it. And that’s her “art,” so God bless. She took a stand. And hey, men have, too, of course. Chris Burden, obviously, and dear Steven Cohen, with that little rooster attached to his cock … coq-on-coq, they called it. In Paris. And many more … folks getting shot dead for drawing a couple pictures of Mohammed … I mean … that shit is crazy. Right? No matter who you are … what church or politics you’ve got … right? That is fucking crazy. (He indicates the SUBJECT.) Anyway, look. What I’ve done here is nothing new … maybe not even provocative in this day and age … but look at him … ladies and gentlemen … take a long look at him and then try and tell me that what you see before you is not ART … (Beat.) In fact, I dare you. I defy you to. (Beat.) Go on. (Beat.) Say it.
The ARTIST waits. If anyone in the audiences disagrees, the ARTIST should say “says you.” If no one disagrees, then the ARTIST should say “told you so.”
After that he should begin to re-dress himself during the following:
ARTIST See? That’s the beauty of “art.” You and I can think the same thing … or the exact opposite … and we can both be right. But no matter what we feel … it has the right to be expressed. To be seen. Experienced. (Beat.) ART. (Beat.) Doesn’t it?
The ARTIST stops. Smiles. Sniffs his fingers. Taps the SUBJECT in front of him affectionately on the ass.
ARTIST Thank you for sharing this opening with me tonight. (Beat.) That’s a play on words, by the way … for the slower ones out there.
The ARTIST bows and then straightens up. Smiles. Bows again.
ARTIST Enjoy the rest of your evening. (Smiling.) Good night.
The ARTIST turns and walks out. The SUBJECT remains. Looking out at us. Silence. Darkness.
16 POUNDS
16 POUNDS had its world premiere as part of “Mouthful” (a collection of food crisis plays) at Trafalgar Studios in London, England, in September 2015.
It was directe
d by Poppy Burton-Morgan.
DIDI Alisha Bailey
GOGO Robert Hands
Silence. Darkness.
A desk and a swivel chair in a room. Another chair sits in a lighted spot in front of the desk.
A WOMAN sitting at the desk, dressed in a suit. She looks off into the distance, then stretches her neck and back.
Pitcher of water on the table. After a moment, she turns and stands up. Pours a glass of water.
She spills a little onto the desk.
DIDI … oh, damn.
The WOMAN leans forward and uses her hand to slide these few drops back down into the glass.
She sits back down, takes a sip of water from the glass and then sets it on the desk.
After a moment, she hits a button on the desk. Sound of a buzzer overhead and down the hallway. Very loud. After a beat, she speaks into a little box on the desk.
DIDI Next …
After a moment, a MAN enters the room. Timid. Not well-kempt. He stands behind the chair in the lighted spot.
The WOMAN at the desk gestures to him.
DIDI … no, no, please. Sit. No need to be so formal. You should sit. (Beat.) Go on.
GOGO Thank you.
The MAN is tentative but finally sits in the chair.
DIDI Long day, I’m sure …
GOGO It was, yes.
DIDI That awful long line. Right? The line to get in here. Up to this place. To see me.
GOGO Yes.
DIDI Terrible. We’re trying to do something about that, but as you can imagine … lots of people to see. So many people. People like you … who want something.
GOGO I understand.
DIDI Of course you do. I mean, you’re the one who stood there all day. In the sun. In the heat. Without food. Without drink …
GOGO That’s right.
DIDI To get here. To speak with me. Isn’t that right? (Beat.) To talk with me about this.
She points to the glass of water—which he has been looking at almost since he first got into the room.
GOGO Yes.
DIDI No one hurt you, did they? The people outside, the troops and all that? Those men out there, with the dogs and guns … none of them hurt you in any way, did they?
GOGO … no.
DIDI That seems a bit tentative. Be honest.
GOGO No one “hurt” me.
DIDI I see. (Beat.) But …?
GOGO There was some yelling. They’re harsh at times. The men. And the dogs. They would get close and scream or let the animals bark at you … at times. Or bite. (Shows his hand.) One nipped me. Here.
DIDI I see. (Beat.) Well, it is a lot of people to deal with … true? Wouldn’t you agree?
GOGO I would. Yes.
DIDI And sometimes … it doesn’t justify them to be violent or anything like that … I’m not saying that, but … it is a great wave of people that we’re handling here. A huge number of you who want to be here. Who’ve been given the chance to be here.
GOGO That’s true.
DIDI Yes. It is. (Pointing.) For this.
The WOMAN picks up the glass and holds it above the desk. She pours a little onto the top of the desk, where the water pools up on the wooden surface.
The MAN sits forward but stops himself. Watching. After a moment he can’t help himself and bursts into tears. Just sits there and weeps.
The WOMAN sits back in her chair and watches him. Then:
DIDI Oh, no, don’t do that …
GOGO I’m sorry.
DIDI Don’t cry.
GOGO I can’t help it. I just …
DIDI That’s alright. It’s fine. It’s just a teensy little spill … that’s all …
GOGO I know. I see that. But … I’m … I’m …
DIDI No, I understand. I do. (Pointing.) You can have that. All of it. Right there. (Pointing again.) Go ahead. It’s alright.
The MAN looks at her and then, very tentatively, goes to the desk and licks the water up off the surface of it.
The WOMAN stands up while he does this. Pats him on the top of the head. Stroking his hair a few times.
DIDI See? We’re not monsters …
GOGO Thank you.
He licks the table one more time and then goes back to his chair. She sits again. He and the WOMAN sit for a long minute without speaking.
Silence.
DIDI Good, right?
GOGO Yes.
DIDI Better than you remember or about the same?
GOGO Even better.
DIDI It always is, isn’t it? When you haven’t had something for a while and then you’re given it again … it’s even better, right? Better than just the memory of it.
GOGO I think so. (Beat.) Yes.
DIDI Oh, I know so. It’s scientific. It really is … “craving” something … that makes it even better when you finally get it.
GOGO … that’s probably true …
DIDI Absolutely true. It absolutely is. (Beat.) And this is it. What you’re looking at is really it. I mean, not the last of it, of course … not the very end … but it is almost done. Our supplies are almost gone and when that happens … then yes. We’re fucked. We really are. (Beat.) Everybody.
GOGO That’s true …
DIDI Uh-huh. I mean, sure, now you agree. Of course now you do … because it’s gone. But did you always feel that way? When things were fine—and by fine I mean it just kept spilling out of your tap, each and every time you turned it on? I don’t expect you to answer that, by the way … I know what the answer is. Of course not! Who did? No one. Nobody. (Beat.) A few of us did … we talked about it, wagged our fingers and went on talk shows and said not just that it might happen … that it could happen … we said it would happen. (Holds up her hands.) And it did. (Beat.) We ran out. It’s gone. Mostly, anyway. Most of our water supply in the world—not just here but everywhere, and I’m saying “everywhere”—it’s finished … we wasted it. (Beat.) And that took some doing, by the way. Not just our endless decades of consumption … not just that … but climate change—which no one wanted to believe was real … okay, well, fine then! I guess because you say so then it’s not!—And not even that fully did us in. Not even that. No, first we had to export drought … do you know what I mean by that? (To the MAN.) Do you?
GOGO I don’t, no. (Beat.) Sorry.
DIDI Of course you don’t. You did it … along with everybody else … but you had no idea what the fuck you were doing. (Beat.) Same way you did everything else in your life. (Beat.) Oh well. Here we are. (Beat.) What I mean by that is … first we made sure we took all the water from other countries around the world … even ones who already were experiencing drought … didn’t matter to us … we still took water from them to use for ourselves. At home. The office. And raising our food. Mostly for that.
GOGO Oh.
DIDI Yes. “Oh.” Well put. Very well put … (Beat.) We used tons and tons and tons of water, every day, every single day just to produce a pound or two of beef … or chicken … or pork. (Beat.) TONS of water. Over and over and over. (Beat.) And now look at us …
GOGO …
DIDI Exactly. (Smiles.) Not much to say about it, is there? No, not now. Not any more.
GOGO …
DIDI Not all of us, of course … some of us planned ahead … got wise to the whole thing and saved some—of course we did—or I’d be over there with you now, with my head bowed and answering my annoying questions … you’re over there in that chair because you were one of the folks who ran the faucet the whole time you were brushing your teeth and taking so many showers—my God, people used to take a lot of showers, didn’t they?! SO many! (Laughs.) Not anymore, though. Right? I mean, look at you. You’re filthy. When was the last time you took a shower … like a hot shower in a proper bathroom? When would that be? (Beat.) Seriously. Take a guess. (Beat.) Just for fun.
GOGO … I can’t remember.
DIDI Yes. That’s what I hear all the time. None of you can actually remember it … and it’s probab
ly been what? In reality only a few months or a year or whatever, but when I ask folks—people who come and sit in that very same chair—that’s what I usually hear from them. “I can’t remember.” (Beat.) Amazing how it can all go to shit so fucking fast … isn’t it?
GOGO Yes.
DIDI Well, it amazes me, anyway. It really does. (Beat.) One of the great mysteries of mankind, actually … how did we get SO good at fucking things up? Fucking them up so completely and so fully that it’s impossible to go back and fix ’em again. (She shrugs.) I dunno, but we are. We’re great at it. The best there is. (Beat.) Oh well …
The WOMAN reaches out and takes the glass of water on the desk. Drinks most in one gulp. Tosses the rest aside.
The MAN puts his hands to his face—tries to stop himself from crying out. Only partially successful.
DIDI That’s really good. I mean, remember when your parents would tell you how good it was—water, I mean—when you’d want an icy cold Coke or something, middle of a hot summer day and your mum or dad would say “just have a glass of water, it’s the most refreshing thing there is” and you’d just hate ’em for it, hate ’em for saying such stupid shit to you when you really wanted a Coke or something but now that we’re here at this place you realize it was kinda true … that water was the best thing we had and completely natural and we had a TON of it … I mean, an endless supply … or so we thought … and now this is it. Here we are. We’re fucked. Or, I mean, you are. People like you. Not me. Not for now. For a little bit longer I will be in this chair and not that chair, where you’re sitting, but who knows? All I know is everything is gonna come to an end, really fast and really soon now and it’s no joke and we all used to think it was … think the environment and food and water and recycling and the animals and everything was just a huge fucking joke. And then it wasn’t … and people got very scared and panicked and a lot of people got sick or died or killed themselves and the government stepped in and … blah blah-blah … and here we are. You there and me here and this is how it goes … (Beat.) The-end-of-the-world.
