by Martin Crimp
Clair Because it will be better.
He slowly removes his hat.
You see: much better.
Chris You think?
Clair Much better. (To Jenny.) Don’t you agree?
Jenny Oh yes. Yes. Much better like that.
Clair (to Girl) Play us your piece, sweetheart.
Jenny Much much better like that.
The Girl begins to play the Schubert movement heard in Scene iii. She sets off confidently but gets stuck at bar 3. She starts again but is soon in difficulty. The light begins to fade. She can’t get beyond bar 4.
* There is no fire. They are not sitting.
PLAY HOUSE
Play House was first performed in a double bill with Definitely the Bahamas at the Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond, on 14 March 2012. The cast was as follows:
Simon Obi Abili
Katrina Lily James
Director Martin Crimp
Designer Sam Dowson
Lighting Designer John Harris
Movement Joseph Alford
Assistant Director Karima Setohy
Assistant Designer Katy Mills
Characters
Simon
Katrina
I DECLARATION (1)
II CLEANING THE FRIDGE
III BRUSHING TEETH
IV HOME ENTERTAINMENT
V MOBILE DEVICE (1)
VI MOBILE DEVICE (2)
VII HOME FROM WORK
VIII POST-COITAL
IX VISITOR (1)
X PROMOTION
XI SELF-ASSEMBLY
XII VISITOR (2)
XIII DECLARATION (2)
Although there are thirteen distinct scenes,
each with its own flavour, the performance
should be continuous.
I DECLARATION (1)
— I love you so much. You fill the whole frame of my being. I go to sleep thinking about you and wake up with your voice winding through my head. Your eyes are so clear. If your eye was a well and I dropped a stone into it, that stone would never stop falling – I’m serious. I don’t believe in God, but I do believe in you. I believe you created me. That’s why I feel alive with you here – now – in our new home. Before I was just clay.
— You mean like a lump.
— Yes before I was just a lump of clay. But now I’m alive. You have created me. I’m serious.
She smiles.
You have an incredible smile.
She passes him a wrapped item.
What’s this?
— Open it.
— For me?
— Open it.
He unwraps the gift: there’s a cardboard box like a cake-box with a hinged lid. He raises the lid and reacts to the contents.
— What’s this? Dog shit?
She tries not to laugh.
II CLEANING THE FRIDGE
— I just had my mum on the phone.
— Your mum? What did your mum want?
— Oh – she’s upset – seems my dad had a nervous breakdown. (He looks at her.) What?
— I didn’t know people said that.
— Nervous breakdown? Of course they do.
They continue to clean the fridge.
— Is he in hospital?
— Of course they do. Because the trouble with you –
— Oh?
— Yes the trouble with you is you think you know better than everyone else.
They continue to clean the fridge.
You don’t have to look so hurt. After all, this is not about you, Simon – it’s about my dad – it’s actually about my whole family. It’s about a whole interconnected series of bad choices of which my dad’s just one element. Because there’s a whole cluster of genetic – well I won’t go into that now – but also psychological and even political shit – a constellation of issues – adoption – attempted rape – within which my father is simply one faint star whose light barely reaches us.
Having said that –
— Oh?
— Yes having said that, I still don’t trust her.
— Your mother?
— Well you’ve seen how she behaves. And since I moved in with you, she’ll say anything to get my attention.
They continue to clean the fridge.
— About your dad?
— About herself. About her wasted life. About her fear for her own safety. Because – well – okay, Mister I-Know-Everything – you were right – it wasn’t a ‘nervous breakdown’ – he had a psychotic episode.
Pause.
— Your dad did?
— Seems she woke up and found he’d set fire to the bedroom curtains. Oh shit.
— What?
— There’s mould on this yoghurt.
— Chuck it.
III BRUSHING TEETH
— Where are you?
— (Off.) Brushing my teeth.
Pause.
— You know I was thinking about what you were saying.
— (Off.) What?
Pause.
— I said: I was thinking about what you were saying. About children? Katrina?
Pause.
Because on my way to the station I saw some going into the park. They were going in one at a time. In a row. Tiny ones. Are you listening?
Pause.
And what they had was a rope. Which they each held on to – so they wouldn’t get lost. You should’ve heard them all chattering – holding on to this long blue rope. Because it’s exactly what you were saying. About children. Katrina?
He gets up, now puzzled by her failure to react.
Katrina? I said: it’s exactly the thing we were talking about.
He goes out. A moment passes.
(Off, softly.) Oh my God.
He returns with his arm round her shoulder. She has one hand up to her mouth, which is bloody.
Come on. Come on. Use this. What happened?
She dabs at her mouth with whatever he’s given her.
What happened? Katrina?
She makes a gesture to be left alone, and goes on dabbing and spitting out blood.
IV HOME-ENTERTAINMENT
Very loud music: Wynonie Harris, ‘My Playful Baby’s Gone’.
Completely absorbed in one another, they dance.
Doorbell.
They take no notice. They go on dancing.
Doorbell again.
— (Calls out.) Go away! We’re dancing!
Doorbell again.
I said go away!
They go on dancing. They get more and more into it.
Doorbell again.
— Fuck off!
— Fuck off!
— Go away! Fuck off!
Continuous doorbell.
They go on dancing, continuous doorbell just audible through the music. Finally Simon breaks away and goes off.
Doorbell stops but music continues.
He comes back, turns off the music, looks at her.
Silence.
— Who was it?
— No one.
— I love that song.
— Me too.
— What’s that?
— (Shrugs.) Found it.
He’s holding a card and a torn-open envelope. He brandishes the card and chuckles.
— What? What?
She tries to take the card, he snatches it back. They both play around with the card till she finally secures it. She reads it aloud.
‘Dear neighbours, when I listen to you dancing or hear you make love, I so want to dance with you or make love too. You see you cannot imagine how –’ What’s that word?
— ‘Unimaginably’.
— ‘– imagine how unimaginably’? – ‘You cannot imagine how unimaginably hurt and – (Turns card.) – lonely I am. But I am not asking for your pity. No. Do not pity me. I just need you to know that I exist and think your lives must be beautiful. Ian.’
— Ian? Who’s Ian?
— Or it could be Jon – or Jan perhaps. It could say Jan
.
— A woman?
V MOBILE DEVICE (1)
Simon consults a mobile device throughout.
— Well of course sometimes it was bad. Sometimes when he was drunk it would just go on and on and I’d be thinking I’m not enjoying this, please let it stop. But at other times I was excited and did it because I loved him. He was my first love and I loved him. I was calm and relaxed with him – then tense. I needed his approval but at the same time wanted to drive a bolt through his forehead like they do in a slaughterhouse. He said: well go on then – try it. Then got down on all fours like an animal. (She smiles.) God my dad hated him.
What is it you’re doing?
— Mmm?
— I said what is it you’re / doing?
— (Not looking up from device.) Well you know how Kant said you should never lie – even if a soldier comes into your house and asks where your children are – I mean with the intention of killing them – and Kant said you must never lie – you must say, Well my children are in the wardrobe – or – I don’t know – my children are out in the garden, playing on the swing. Well I’m just checking that Kant actually said that.
He carries on tapping the tiny keys.
VI MOBILE DEVICE (2)
No apparent change from Scene v. Simon is tapping at the same mobile device. Silence apart from the tapping.
— Huh!
— What?
— The battery’s dead.
— It can’t be.
— What’re you doing?
— I want to see.
— You don’t need to see. I’m telling you: it’s dead.
— Don’t talk to me like that.
— I’m sorry?
— Don’t talk to me in that condescending way. Who d’you think you are?
— The battery’s dead. I don’t need confirmation.
— But it’s brand new. It’s a brand new phone, Simon. I spent money on that! Come on. Show me.
He gives her the phone. She deftly takes it apart, removing the battery etc.
— What’s wrong with us? Why can’t we say or do or think one single thing of importance? How is it that day after day after day can go by and not one word we speak makes any difference to the sum total of human thought? Mmm?
— (Concentrating on phone.) Rubbish. Who says there
has to be a sum total?
— But what is the point of making us so complicated as beings when even my cat poking its head over the side of its cat box has more dignity than I do?
— (As before.) You don’t have a cat, Simon.
— I did when I was a boy.
— But you’re not a boy now, are you – (She tosses him the phone.) It works. – You’re a man. You’re a man and everything you say is important, and everything you think has consequences. Look at us. Like it or not we’re in charge of the whole universe – from the precessionary stars to each dim sheep tottering through the valley.
— Including cats.
— Including – you’re so totally right – cats. So don’t let’s pretend we have no responsibility. Because like it or not, we’re the ones running the whole show.
Pause.
— You mean you are.
She laughs.
VII HOME FROM WORK
— (Excited.) You’ll never guess what happened.
— (Excited.) What?
— I bumped into Jan on the stairs.
— Who?
Pause.
(Realises.) Oh my God. Jan. What happened? Did you say something?
— I said ‘I hope our music isn’t disturbing you.’
Both crease up with laughter.
— But how did you know it was her?
— Mmm?
— How did you know it was her? – Jan?
— Mmm?
— How did you know who it was?
— She was wearing ID. She works in a shop. I mean works in a bank. She works in a bank. I’ve no idea why I said / shop.
— Which bank?
— The … the … Hong Kong and Shanghai.
— Okay. So what did she say?
— Mmm?
— About the music. Come on. Wake up!
— About the music?
— Yes. About the music.
— Said she never hears it.
— (Faint laugh.) Lying little bitch.
— Where’re you going?
— Lying little eavesdropping fucking bank-clerk bitch –
— Katrina –
— What? What?
Slight pause.
— She’s not a clerk. She sells Credit Default Swaps to Scandinavian hedge-funds
Slight pause.
— Then what is she doing living in a shit-hole like this?
Slight pause.
— If you mean, why does she have only a modest apartment like ours – that’s because she’s basically based in Stockholm. This is just a pied-à-terre.
Slight pause.
Katrina, please don’t cry.
Long pause. She wipes her eyes.
— I’m not.
— Difficult day?
— Mmm. [= yes]
— Those students again?
— Mmm. [= yes]
— You should separate the ringleaders.
— I’m going to.
Pause.
What? (Amused.) Why are you staring at me like that? Stop it. Stand normally. Uncross your arms. What?
— Well listen, you may or may not approve of this, but the thing is she gave me some pills. And you know what it’s like when someone has a particularly strong personality and you want to obey them so you do what they say almost in spite of yourself? Because I said to her: look, Jan, I don’t take drugs from strange women. And Jan said: that’s only because you don’t work in international finance and may never have had the opportunity. D’you see? She was quite funny – as well as very persuasive. She said to me: I normally take three, but two is enough to start with.
Pause.
— And you took them?
— What?
— These pills – these pills from this ghastly bank woman – you / took them?
— Of course not. (Unfolds his arms.) They’re still here – in my fist.
— Show me.
— But the thing is – yes the odd thing is – is since talking to Jan – who’s not at all ghastly by the way – but since talking to Jan – even without the pills – I already feel that my mind has completely altered.
— (Slaps his face.) Show me. (Slaps his face again.)
— Hey!
— Open your hand, Simon!
She slaps his face again – struggles to open his fist – then gives up.
— And of course you’re quite right: there is part of me that’s not sure whether I’ve taken those pills or not. There is part of me that’s wondering just what is inside this fist.
VIII POST-COITAL
Simon watches Katrina trying to do handstands.
— What’re you doing?
She keeps trying.
Katrina?
— I used to be able to do this.
She keeps trying.
— You’re going to break something.
— You take my legs.
— I don’t want to take your legs.
— Yes you do. Go on. Please.
She stands on her hands – he takes her legs.
— I’ve got your thighs in my face.
— You should like it.
I can feel it.
I’m definitely getting pregnant.
— It’s nothing to do with which way up you are.
— You’re so funny. I love you.
She laughs.
—What?
— The sockets have little faces. And the chair looks glued to the ceiling.
Well come on.
— Come on what?
— Say you love me too.
— I love you too.
— Even though you’re upside down.<
br />
— Even though you’re upside down.
— Even though THE WHOLE WORLD is upside down. Say it.
— (Amused.) Stop kicking my head.
— Then say it!
— What’re you doing?
— I’m climbing you.
— Jesus. Katrina – this is dangerous.
— Then say that the whole world’s upside down.
— But it’s not. The whole world is not upside down – you’re the one who is / upside down.
— Oh stop being such a literal-minded … un-poetic … fucking … / planning-officer!
— Then just stop … climbing all over me … Katrina! For God sake!
They collapse on the floor laughing and kissing.
IX VISITOR (1)
Pause.
— But what was he doing here? I don’t understand that he just turned up – I thought he was still sick. How long did he stay for? Simon?
— Maybe an hour?
— An hour? He has no right. He has no right turning up here imposing his problems. (Slight pause.) What did he talk about?
— I promised not to say.
— Was it about me? What d’you mean: you promised?
— I promised I wouldn’t say.
— Was he talking about me? Mmm?
— Not everything is about you.
— I do realise that. I naturally realise that. But why did he bring the dress? (Slight pause.) I mean that’s just so completely weird having my dad turn up here with that dress. Dad never turns up anywhere. Dad never talks to anyone. And for a whole hour?
