The Lyons

by Nicky Silver

  “Nicky Silver’s best play since The Food Chain . . . Hilariously frank, clear-sighted and compassionate and forgiving . . . Laughter that rises in close and regular waves.”

  —BEN BRANTLEY, NEW YORK TIMES

  “The Lyons is smart and funny and moving . . . a deeply affecting portrait—entertaining and thought-provoking.”

  —JESSE OXFELD, NEW YORK OBSERVER

  “Silver’s humor is mordant, dark and rich. He’s a writer who knows all too well the unsaid hurt that can infect families.”

  —JOCELYN NOVECK, ASSOCIATED PRESS

  “Black comedy perfection! Suffice it to say that while Silver is wary of sentimentality or false reconciliation, he deftly shows the ways in which the remaining three Lyons family members reach out for a human connection. Whether they do this with clumsy earnestness or with unapologetic, selfish pragmatism, the playwright’s refusal to judge them helps foster our own understanding of these injured and injurious people.”

  —DAVID ROONEY, HOLLYWOOD REPORTER

  “A pleasure to be back in Nicky Silver’s whirlpool of emotional hunger, despair and unexpected tenderness.”

  —LINDA WINER, NEWSDAY

  “Death looms large in Nicky Silver’s Broadway play, The Lyons, a caustic and canny comedy about family dysfunction packed with surprises that are alternately hilarious, tragic and absurd.”

  —JOE DZIEMIANOWICZ, DAILY NEWS

  THE LYONS

  BOOKS BY NICKY SILVER AVAILABLE FROM TCG

  Etiquette and Vitriol: The Food Chain and Other Plays

  INCLUDES:

  The Food Chain

  Pterodactyls

  Fat Men in Skirts

  Free Will & Wanton Lust

  The Lyons

  Raised in Captivity

  THE LYONS

  Nicky Silver

  THEATRE COMMUNICATIONS GROUP

  NEW YORK

  2012

  The Lyons is copyright © 2012 by Nicky Silver

  The Lyons is published by Theatre Communications Group, Inc.,

  520 Eighth Avenue, 24th Floor, New York, NY 10018-4156

  All Rights Reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that this material, being fully protected under the Copyright Laws of the United States of America and all other countries of the Berne and Universal Copyright Conventions, is subject to a royalty. All rights, including but not limited to, professional, amateur, recording, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio and television broadcasting, and the rights of translation into foreign languages are expressly reserved. Particular emphasis is placed on the question of readings and all uses of this book by educational institutions, permission for which must be secured from the author’s representative: John Buzzetti at William Morris Endeavor Entertainment, 1325 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10019, (212) 903-1166.

  The publication of The Lyons by Nicky Silver, 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.

  TCG books are exclusively distributed to the book trade by Consortium Book Sales and Distribution.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Silver, Nicky.

  The Lyons / Nicky Silver. — First Edition.

  pages cm

  ISBN (invalid) 978-1-55936-726-4 (ebook)

  I. Title.

  PS3569.I4712M351999

  812’.54—dc232012040152

  Book design and composition by Lisa Govan

  Cover design by Chip Kidd

  Cover photograph: Mr. and Mrs. Jerry Silver, circa 1963.

  First Edition, December 2012

  Contents

  Introduction

  Act One

  Act Two

  Deleted Scene

  The Lyons is dedicated to Jerry Silver

  1930–2010

  Introduction

  As I write this we have just begun previews for the Broadway production of The Lyons. Today, of course, I have no idea if we’ll close on opening night or run for years. (Chances are it’ll be somewhere in between.) But at the moment, I find myself on Broadway, a place I never thought I’d be. Now, for those non–New Yorkers, Broadway is a street, a specific place. But in the theater, Broadway is a district, a clump of theaters distinguished by their size—and their place in history. The Cort Theatre, our home, is actually on Forty-eighth Street, east of Seventh Avenue. But it’s Broadway just the same.

  Given this turn of events, I have been asked lately what it means to me to have a play on Broadway. I respond, “I’m not stupid enough to think that it is some clear indication of quality. Quality is everywhere. But being on Broadway changes, if not how I see myself, at least how others see me. It assures one a place at some historical, theatrical dinner table.” (Although given my nature, I suspect I’ll be seated in the back, next to the kitchen.) In any event, never having dared to dream this dream, it’s actually more moving to me than I can say. It’s a shock, frankly. And both of my fans are dumbstruck.

  A little background. When I came to New York, in the mid-seventies, all I wanted was to find my place in the theatrical community. I was young, full of rage and that sense of superiority that can only live inside someone who has yet to accomplish a single thing. I thought of Broadway as a pandering, lowbrow circus. Joseph Papp and Stephen Sondheim were exceptions, bringing things like Runaways and Follies to the Great White Way—but for the most part I was snotty about what was popular. I realize now this is because I wasn’t.

  I wrote plays that shouted, “Look at me!” Fat Men in Skirts, one of my earliest plays to be produced, involves incest and cannibalism (and oddly no chunky transvestites). I still love that play very much and it has proven to be very popular both in this country and overseas. But it certainly wasn’t the kind of thing that played on Broadway. My point is this: I never thought of myself as one who wrote “Broadway plays.” It never occurred to me to even have that dream.

  Then, gradually, over the last twenty years two things happened. I changed and Broadway changed. The reasons for the latter are complicated, economic, artistic and better left to someone smarter than I to explain. I changed, well, because I got older. It was inevitable. I suspect I’m still a stretch for some portion of the Broadway audience, but from the first moment of the first preview at the Vineyard Theatre, I sensed this play had a different kind of appeal, an enthusiasm that brought me here.

  How on earth did this happen?

  The Lyons was written in 2009. My father, by the way, was relatively healthy and vigorous at the time. He passed away between the time I wrote the play and the play’s premiere. (I mention this only to stifle those who think The Lyons is strictly reportage.) Several theaters with whom I have relationships stepped up and did readings at once. I didn’t think the readings went very well—readings are always dodgy propositions—and everyone passed. That brings me to the Vineyard.

  The Vineyard Theatre has been my home for twenty years now. I have worked on eleven projects and opened eight plays there. A remarkable relationship in this day and age. We’ve had big successes (Pterodactyls, Raised in Captivity) and some that didn’t turn out so well (I’m not naming them, go look online if you must). But they’ve stood by me. They are my family and I love them deeply. I cannot name them all here, but I have to mention the great Doug Aibel, Jen Garvey-Blackwell, Sarah Stern, Rebecca Habel . . . there are too many. And not just the staff, but the au
dience, the Vineyard subscribers. They’ve stood by me, too. I am, it seems, the luckiest playwright in New York.

  In any event, the Vineyard was more interested in another new play I had just finished. It took a few readings and some gentle arm-twisting to get them to do The Lyons instead. That may be overstating it. They always believed in the play, but the readings went a long way toward convincing them that it should go first. One of the problems with the previous readings, one of the reasons they didn’t work for me, was casting. I wasn’t taking any chances at the Vineyard. The first person I asked for was Michael Esper, to play Curtis.

  Michael Esper is my closest friend. He also happens to be the finest actor I know. I didn’t write Curtis for Michael, but I knew he would make Curtis work. He brings depth to writing that has none and heart to ice cold words. He did that, from day one, at the first reading. He gave my play a soul. I love him and owe him so, so much.

  The readings went well and the Vineyard committed. The next question was Rita. The first person we went to was Linda Lavin. Now Miss Lavin is a Broadway legend with too many awards to list. She is magnificent. I’d never met her and never thought she’d do it. She had offers at the time for two very prestigious Broadway shows! But, what the hell, we sent her the script . . . and she said yes! Working with Miss Lavin, getting to know her, has been one of the great bonuses of The Lyons. She leaves the legend outside and brings the hilarious, warm, self-deprecating Linda into rehearsal. And in front of an audience there is simply no one more alive, or brilliantly funny and heartbreaking. Her relationship with the audience is a tangible thing. You can see it in the air. She is a marvel.

  The rest of the cast was of equal stature. I’d worked with Dick Latessa, another Tony winner, years ago. I adored him then, adore him now. He marries real gravitas with the humor of a brilliant comic. The stunning Kate Jennings Grant completed the family as Lisa. I’d been a huge fan of Kate’s since I saw her in The Marriage of Bette and Boo, and I was thrilled to get her! It’s rare to find someone that beautiful and that gifted. Add Gregory Wooddell and Brenda Pressely as the nonfamily members, and let’s face it, with this cast the play would have to stink out loud not to do well. Six spectacular actors. I just got lucky and that’s all there is to it.

  Now, I must talk about Mark Brokaw, the director of The Lyons. We’d worked together briefly, seventeen years ago, and I didn’t really know him anymore. We asked him. He read it. And he said yes. Mark is a rock. Putting up a new play is a terrifying thing! Mark always made me feel protected. He’s also, thank heavens, completely brilliant. He allows the play and the performances to grow, to blossom, knowing just how much to do and how much room to give. Most directors think they have to yank the play out like a rotten tooth. Mark is gentle and astute and nurturing. He did a perfect job.

  So we opened at the Vineyard. Reviews were great, really great, and we broke a lot of records. Anyone who writes plays, and continues to write over a span of years, knows that every career has its ups and downs. And, to be honest, the response to The Lyons at the Vineyard was more than I’d hoped for. It was thrilling. Right away people started talking about a Broadway transfer. There was talk of that for Raised in Captivity [1995] and it didn’t happen. So this time I tried not to think about it.

  Then, at the eleventh hour, in a wildly busy season, the pieces fell into place. Kathleen K. Johnson stepped up to the plate and offered to move the show. A single name above the title—a rare thing in this day and age, and sign of real faith and real courage.

  So here I am. I find myself writing the introduction to this volume during Broadway previews. Whoda thunk it? If we run for days or if we run for years, the ride is the prize. And that’s the fact.

  There are other people to thank who went on this journey. My great agent John Buzzetti; Terry Kinney; Manny, Jeff and Jason at Niko Companies; Roy and Denise; Sam; the wonderful Penny Fuller . . . so many, too many.

  But now I have to get to the theater for tonight’s preview and my stomach hurts already.

  You see, I get horribly nervous every night, every show. Will they laugh tonight? Will they be moved tonight?

  Somehow or other, they always laugh.

  They’re always moved.

  Wonders never cease.

  Nicky Silver

  New York City

  April 8, 2012

  THE LYONS

  PRODUCTION HISTORY

  The Lyons received its world premiere at the Vineyard Theatre (Douglas Aibel, Artistic Director; Sarah Stern, Co-Artistic Director; Jennifer Garvey-Blackwell, Executive Producer; Rebecca Habel, Managing Director) in New York City on October 11, 2011. It was directed by Mark Brokaw. The set design was by Allen Moyer, the costume design was by Michael Krass, the lighting design was by David Lander and the original music and sound design were by David Van Tieghem; the production stage manager was Roy Harris. The cast was:

  BEN Dick Latessa

  RITA Linda Lavin

  LISA Kate Jennings Grant

  CURTIS Michael Esper

  A NURSE Brenda Pressley

  BRIAN Gregory Wooddell

  The Lyons subsequently opened on Broadway at the Cort Theatre on April 23, 2012. It was produced by Kathleen K. Johnson. The cast and all personnel remained the same with the following exceptions: the general manager was Niko Companies, the production stage manager was Robert Bennett and the stage manager was Lois Griffing.

  CHARACTERS

  BEN LYONS: a dying man, although he is at the end of his life, he is not without energy, late seventies

  RITA: his wife, sixties to seventies

  LISA: their daughter, late thirties

  CURTIS: their son, thirties

  A NURSE: forties

  BRIAN: a very attractive real-estate broker, late twenties to early thirties

  TIME AND PLACE

  ACT ONE

  The Lyons

  One evening in a Manhattan hospital room

  ACT TWO

  Scene 1: Location, Location, Location

  One week later, a vacant studio apartment

  Scene 2: Most Poor Sons of Bitches

  Three days later, a hospital room

  Act One

  THE LYONS

  A hospital room, the bed and two chairs. Ben Lyons, a curmudgeon, is in bed, attached to a drip and perhaps a monitor. A vast array of medication sits on the table next to the bed. There are some “get well” cards and the remnants of an assorted box of chocolates on the windowsill. Ben is watching as the Nurse makes a notation on his chart. Rita, Ben’s wife, is seated in a chair, looking through an issue of House Beautiful. Rita turns a page in her magazine.

  RITA: Look at that.

  BEN: What?

  RITA: What?

  BEN: What’d you say?

  RITA: I thought you were sleeping.

  BEN: What’d you say?

  (The Nurse exits.)

  RITA: I said look at that.

  BEN: Look at what?

  RITA: I’m trying to get ideas—for the living room.

  BEN: I like the living room.

  RITA: Yes, I know, dear, but I don’t. I hate it. I’ve always hated it.

  BEN (Under his breath): Christ.

  RITA: I’m trying to remember where I saw it. This room. The most beautiful room. Maybe a magazine. Pale blue walls. Icy blue. Glacier blue. Stunning. And a sofa—the exact same color in a silk moiré—but the same cold blue, like icicles, so it almost disappears into the wall. Gorgeous! It wasn’t a magazine. I saw it, I think. I think I saw it. I mean in person—Bunny Barsch! Remember Bunny Barsch? She always had fantastic taste, beautiful taste, elegant taste. Like goyim. Of course that was years ago, then she had that accident and she was never quite the same. I don’t even know where she lives now. Frieda Bronstein told me she was arrested. Can you believe that? For shoplifting. Lipsticks of all things. I suppose you never really know what people are like, behind closed doors. Then you find out one day. You look back and you realize and lots of things make perf
ect sense. For instance whatever happened to that Limoges I lent her? Service for twelve with a soup tureen and a matching ladle and a gravy boat with a scroll pattern—

  BEN: What the fuck are you talking about!!?

  RITA: Is filthy language really called for?

  BEN: Dear fucking god.

  RITA: You know I don’t like it. You never used to curse. You used to just shoot icy glares. Now every other word out of your mouth is shit and fuck and cocksucker. I don’t think it’s becoming.

  BEN: Go fuck yourself.

  RITA: There. You see? You see? It’s as if you’re incapable of having a decent conversation.

  BEN: I’m not.

  RITA: When did you get to be so vulgar?

  BEN: My head hurts.

  RITA: I’m sure if they thought you needed more pain medication they’d give it to you. Isn’t that what that drip is? Isn’t that what it’s for? You don’t want to get addicted.

  BEN: Why not? What’s the difference?

  RITA: Well . . . I don’t know but it doesn’t seem like a very good idea. Do you want to look at pictures for the living room?

  BEN: I like the living room.

  RITA: I know, dear. You said that. But everything is so threadbare. And I never liked it. Not really. And you never let me buy anything really nice. Money, money, money.

  BEN: It’s comfortable.

  RITA: What would you think of a Marrakech theme? You know, Middle Eastern.

  BEN: I’m getting a headache.

  RITA: I mean, I realize you won’t actually be there to enjoy it, but I’d like to think you’d like it.

  BEN: I wouldn’t.

  RITA: Try to keep an open mind. Burnt desert colors, pointed arches, mosaics on the floor.