Downstate E-Book

Bruce Norris

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

In downstate Illinois, four men convicted of sex crimes against minors share a group home where they live out their lives in the shadow of the offences they committed. A man shows up to confront his childhood abuser – but does he want closure or retribution? Bruce Norris's provocative play Downstate zeroes in on the limits of our compassion and what happens when society deems anyone beyond forgiveness. Downstate received its UK premiere at the National Theatre, London, in March 2019, in the same production which had its world premiere at Steppenwolf Theatre, Chicago, in September 2018.

Leseprobe

Bruce Norris

DOWNSTATE

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Original Production

Dedication

Characters

Setting

Downstate

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

Downstate was co-commissioned and its world premiere was presented by Steppenwolf Theatre Company, Chicago (Anna Shapiro, Artistic Director; David Schmitz, Executive Director) and the National Theatre, London (Rufus Norris, Artistic Director; Lisa Burger, Executive Director).

Downstate premiered on 30 September 2018, at Steppenwolf’s Upstairs Theatre, Chicago, and opened on 20 March 2019 in the Dorfman auditorium of the National Theatre, London. The cast, in alphabetical order, was as follows:

COPS (Chicago)

Elyakeem Avraham

Maura Kidwell

Nate Whelden

GIO

Glenn Davis

COPS (London)

Mark Extance

Brinsley Terence

Shelley Williams

DEE

K. Todd Freeman

FRED

Francis Guinan

ANDY

Tim Hopper

IVY

Cecilia Noble

FELIX

Eddie Torres

EFFIE

Aimee Lou Wood

EM

Matilda Ziegler

Director

Pam MacKinnon

Set Designer

Todd Rosenthal

Costume Designer

Clint Ramos

Lighting Designer

Adam Silverman

Sound Designer

Carolyn Downing

Vocal Coach

Gigi Buffington

Staff Director

Eva Sampson

Stage Manager (Chicago)

Laura Glenn

Assistant Stage Manager (Chicago)

Christine D. Freeburg

Stage Manager (London)

Alison Rankin

Deputy Stage Manager (London)

Fiona Bardsley

Assistant Stage Manager (London)

Abigail Thornton

For Martha Lavey

Characters

ANDY, late thirties–forties, white, professional

EM, late thirties–forties, same as Andy

FRED, seventies, white, glasses, motorized wheelchair, childlike, not unlike Fred Rogers

DEE, pushing sixty, black, thin, languid

GIO, thirties, black, muscular, clean-cut, ambitious, voluble

FELIX, forties, Latino, heavyset, solitary, silent

IVY, forties–fifties, black or Latina. Probation officer – overworked, weary

EFFIE, late teens — early twenties. Any ethnicity. Hyperactive. Too much eye make-up

COPS (non-speaking), two male, one female, to be played by understudies

Setting

A group home for sex offenders, downstate Illinois: a single-story house, built in the 1950s or ’60s, now deteriorated. Superficial attempts have been made to make the place livable but they fail to relieve the general dreariness of the place. Ugly contemporary sofa, small flat-screen TV, second-hand dining table and chairs, window-unit AC. One broken window, repaired with duct tape and cardboard. In one corner, a weight-training bench with barbells. In another, an electric keyboard. An aluminium baseball bat leans next to the front door. Kitchen partially visible through a doorway. A hall leads to a bathroom and bedrooms. To the rear of the main room, an accordion door has been added to create a fourth bedroom from an alcove. When the door opens we can see into Felix’s cramped room: single bed, crucifix upon the wall, personal items, mini-fridge, etc.

No music should be used in the play except as indicated.

The time is the present.

This ebook was created before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed.

ACT ONE

June. Saturday morning. Warm outside. Windows closed, shades drawn. A window unit hums feebly.

ANDY and EM together on sofa, opposite FRED in his wheelchair. ANDY stares at some printed pages in his lap. EM looks at him expectantly. Long pause. She places a hand on his knee.

EM. Ready?

ANDY nods, clears his throat.

ANDY. For a number of years –

EM. Take your time.

ANDY (calm, measured). For a number of years I told myself my life was good. And to the casual observer, this would appear to be true: I have a loving partner, I have a family, I have a home. And as long as I told myself this story, I believed it, too: Life was good and the past was the past and had no power over me in the present. (Beat.) But after my child was b–

His voice catches. EM touches him.

(Very quietly.) Sorry.

EM (whisper). You’re okay.

ANDY (whisper). I’m fine.

EM (whisper). Proud of you.

Another deep breath. He resumes.

ANDY. But after my child was born I started having panic attacks. And at first I didn’t want to make the association. I kept telling myself that fear and anxiety were normal responses to parenthood, what any adult would naturally feel when faced with the responsibility of caring for an innocent life. But then I started to notice that other parents were not anxious, on the contrary, they seemed happy and fulfilled. And it was only then I began to accept that we can never truly escape the past, and that evil exists in the world, and for me, at this moment, one part of that acceptance, is to look you in the eye today, and tell you to your face that you are a fundamentally evil person.

EM nods, gravely.

FRED (gently). Are you sure you don’t want some coffee?

EM. He’s not finished.

FRED. Sorry.

EM. Let’s let him finish.

FRED. Okay.

ANDY takes a breath, continues reading.

ANDY. I used to fantasize about how I would kill you.

FRED. Okay.

ANDY (calmly). I would park outside your apartment and wait until you pulled in the driveway. And I would bring along my mother’s .38, the one she kept in her bedside table, and when you stepped out of your car I would hold it against your head and duct tape your mouth so I wouldn’t have to listen to any of your toxic bullshit –

FRED. Sure.

ANDY. – and I’d drive you to the edge of the forest preserve, and you’d kneel down in the dirt –

EM’s cell begins to ring. She glances at the screen.

– and I’d rip the tape off your mouth and jam the barrel of the gun down your throat, so that you – so that you might – (Noticing phone, to EM.) you wanna – ?

EM answers her phone.

EM (sotto). What’s up?

ANDY and FRED stare at the floor.

Okay, but what did we say about the whiny voice? Yes, much better. Thank you. (Beat.) I don’t know. Maybe forty-five minutes?

ANDY gestures apologetically to FRED.

Well, where’s the charger? Did you look in the zippy bag? Okay, then have Maria take you to the front desk maybe they have a charger.

ANDY. There’s games on the TV.

EM. Daddy says they have games on the TV.

ANDY. Smash Brothers.

EM. Daddy says they have Smash Brothers.

A bedroom door opens in the hall. GIO briefly appears in sweatpants and a tank top. He inconspicuously enters the bathroom, closing the door behind him. ANDY notices.

Yeah ask Maria to set you up with Smash Brothers and by the time you’re finished we’ll be back. Tell her charge it to the room.

ANDY (to FRED). Sorry.

FRED. No no.

ANDY. Taking him to the water park.

FRED. That sounds like fun.

EM (on phone). Well, what did I just say? Soon as we get back to the hotel, okay? Okay. (She hangs up. To ANDY.) Sorry.

ANDY looks for his place in the letter.

ANDY (to FRED). Um. I don’t remember what I –

FRED. The gun in my –

ANDY. – Right. Right.

ANDY finds where he left off, clears throat.

(Reading.) …and I’d jam the – it’s a fantasy, you know –

FRED. I know that.

ANDY. – it’s a way of communicating some sense of of of the –

EM (overlapping). You don’t have to explain.

ANDY (continuous). – emotional cost of what – I’m not.

EM. Or justify.

ANDY. – I didn’t – it’s just – (To FRED.) sometimes it’s difficult for me to be um, you know, totally direct so this is a way of –

EM (overlapping). But why are you backpedalling?

ANDY (continuous). – unambiguously – (To EM.) I’m not.

EM. This is what you feel, and you have ownership of those feelings –

ANDY. I know that.

EM. – whether it makes him uncomfortable or not. (To FRED.) Right?

FRED. That’s right.

EM. And if it does? So be it.

ANDY. I agree.

EM. So let’s do what we’re here to do, okay?

ANDY. Right. Okay.

ANDY scans the page.

Um. So I’m gonna skip ahead to –

FRED. Okay.

ANDY (to himself, finding his place).…um, the guilt and the shame you forced me to live with… (Aloud.) by exploiting my trust. By enlisting my sympathy. But you will never be deserving of sympathy –

The front door opens. DEE enters from outside: sunglasses, flip-flops. He wheels a creaky metal shopping cart filled with groceries through the room en route to the kitchen. Once he is gone, ANDY continues.

(Reading.) – you will never be deserving of sympathy, or forgiveness. That is not something I can –

DEE now crosses from the kitchen to the bathroom, finds it locked, knocks lightly. No answer. He waits by the door. ANDY hesitates again.

EM (prompting ANDY).…not something you can – ?

ANDY (reading). That is not something I can give you. But I must remember to forgive myself, and remember that I was only a child, and to treat myself with the same respect and loving kindness that any child deserves.

In the hallway, DEE knocks again at the closed bathroom door.

GIO. I’ll be out when I’m out.

DEE folds his arms, waits. Brief pause.

FRED (to ANDY). So is that it? Is there any more, or – ?

ANDY. That’s – No. I mean – Yeah. That’s it. That’s all.

Silence. EM rubs ANDY’s back, comforting.

FRED. Well gosh, you know… it just makes me so sad to –

EM. Sorry.

FRED. Whoops.

EM. I have a letter.

FRED. Okay.

ANDY. She has one too.

FRED. Okay.

EM unfolds a letter from her pocket, reads.

EM. I. Am a mother. And a wife. And a daughter and a granddaughter and a sister and a niece. But first and foremost I am a mother. And however strong the love I feel for my husband, that love will always be secondary to that which I feel for my child.

ANDY (nodding). As it should.

EM. And if they were trapped in a burning building, and I had only strength to rescue one of them, there is no question which one that would be.

ANDY (nodding vigorously). Right. Right.

EM. But how can I ever explain to my child why Daddy is sometimes sad? Why he’d rather sit alone in the dark instead of using the PlayStation? Children need answers. And they need to know that some monsters are real.

Bathroom door opens. GIO exits as DEE quickly enters. GIO crosses into the kitchen, with a glance toward the others. EM folds her letter.