And Flights of Angels Sing Thee

by Warren John Deacon & Timothy Constant

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Genre:
Drama
Runtime:
90 - 110 mins
Cast:
3 male(s), 0 female(s), gender-flexible
Synopsis:
SYNOPSIS The action of the play is set in a dilapidated, once opulent, theatre in an English coastal town. At rise we see Sir John, a preeminent stage actor in the twentieth century, seated in an old wingback chair lit by a work light -- a single bulb on a stand protected by a wire cover, which, according to theatrical tradition, represents the presence of the Holy Spirit and must always be left burning in an otherwise darkened theatre. John is very old and confused. “What's the play?” he asks, his breathing ragged. The work light flickers in time with John's uneven breathing. “Make up your mind. Live or die. To be or not to be. That's the bloody question here.” Says John to the flickering light before slumping, with a long sigh, into the ancient chair. The work light winks out entirely just as -- Ralph, also very old and dressed in a duster and a pair of small gossamer wings, flies in on wires that the lighting makes no attempt to disguise. “What shall we play, Johnny?” he asks, gesturing in the direction of the worklight, which suddenly glows with renewed life. John's confusion mounts as Ralph (who should not even be there at all for reasons which escape John entirely) leads him to one of three makeup tables and hands him a jar of cold cream. “Start with a clean palette, you used to say.” John applies the cold cream and Ralph sits in a makeup chair and does the same. Years fall away with the makeup as they reminisce and gossip together until the actors are suddenly, inexplicably, twenty again, rehearsing their first Hamlet and anticipating the arrival of the young actor who is to play Horatio. Larry, singing a ditty to his own beauty and cleverness, tap-dances in to play Horatio. He then proceeds to improvise a brand new death scene for Hamlet by giving John a rutting kiss full on the lips. He pontificates a whole set of new and radical theories about the process of acting and the theatre which do not include most of the traditional values that John has been raised to believe in as sacrosanct. “Times are changing,” he says to John. “Isn't that why you hired me? These audiences today, so demanding . . .” “They're looking for snap and sparkle and a tiny little morsel of sensuality . . .” “ . . . that's exactly what I bring to your four hundred year old party. New life. Invigoration. What you bring is great stature and history and devotion to an ideal . . . “ New ideas notwithstanding, Larry does grudgingly admit that John has something to teach him, and, with that, at least, John is in complete agreement. “We'll begin with your voice, I think,” says John. “ . . .You can cobble together all of the most incomprehensible contexts and obscure subtexts and furtive meanings and malevolent motivations you want but they're not worth a tinker's damn if your voice can't deliver the goods.” Larry leaves the rehearsal in a huff but not before saying to Ralph, in a suspiciously conspiratorial and rather ominous whisper, “Tell him or I will.” The lights come up on the next scene with John unaccountably dressed in full drag as Gertrude. He looks slightly older as does Larry who is dressed as Hamlet. They are of course arguing while John coaches Larry in the bedchamber confrontation scene. John is horrified by Larry's insistence on placing a Freudian, incestuous spin on the relationship between Hamlet and Gertrude. John's confusion continues as the events of his life unfold in scene after scene, in no particular order in the dilapidated theatre. Sometimes the three actors are old and sometimes young. Time seems completely out of joint. “What's the play?” John continues to ask until the scenes of his life become nothing but a list of his professional credits -- a list, which eventually ends. “Oh for God's sake man, tell him.” Larry insists to Ralph. “Put him out of his misery.” “I suppose it's past the time,” Ralph says, and, turning to John, “You got a full minute on the evening news in America. That charming fellow who liked you . . . “ “He said you were ‘the most important Shakespearian actor of the twentieth century,' and, not one word about selling wine before its time.” “Popped off, have I?” asks John as the knowledge finally sinks in. “At the beginning of act one, actually,” replies Ralph. Continuing to act out the scenes of his life, John confronts his own consuming, professional jealousy when he is the last of the three actors to be knighted and only knighted after: the others campaign feverishly to make it happen and Larry is also made a Lord. John and Larry resolve their personal issues in an argument, which begins, during another unorthodox performance of Hamlet, over the presence of a telephone in the dressing room and the existence of the beautiful, damaged, “Viv” in Larry's life. Ominous sounds of heavy equipment and the offstage voices of a demolition crew are heard and John learns that he must eulogize each of his beloved friends and then learns that he's to be spared absolutely nothing and must deliver his own eulogy as well. “It's your own cup and you must drink it all,” says Ralph. “Even unto the bitter dregs at the bottom.”
Notes:
...it's truly lovely. I'm not absolutely certain that the central conceit completely holds up, and you've set demands on the poor actors which it's probably impossible for them to fulfill. But terrific characterizations, and some utterly luminous moments -- chief among them, for me, John's eulogy for himself and his career. The entire thing seems to me to be a lament for a theatre that no longer exists and that fewer and fewer of us will be able to even vaguely recall, let alone relate to. -- Steve Patterson, Bridge Street Theatre, Catskill, NY SAMPLE PAGES http://newbijou.com/stageplay%20pages/angels%20first%2012.pdf WEBSITE http://newbijou.com/angels OTHER PLAYS http://newbijou.com/stageplay%20pages/stage_main.htm
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