Collaborators
Page 2
JH, September 2011
Collaborators was first performed in the Cottesloe auditorium of the National Theatre, London, on 25 October 2011. The cast was as follows:
Mikhail Bulgakov Alex Jennings
Yelena Jacqueline Defferary
Joseph Stalin Simon Russell Beale
Vassily Patrick Godfrey
Praskovya Maggie Service
Sergei Pierce Reid
Grigory William Postlethwaite
Anna Jess Murphy
Vladimir Mark Addy
Stepan Marcus Cunningham
Doctor Nick Sampson
Actor 1 Perri Snowdon
Actor 2 Michael Jenn
Eva Sarah Annis
Other parts played by members of the company
Director Nicholas Hytner
Designer Bob Crowley
Lighting Designer Jon Clark
Music George Fenton
Sound Designer Paul Arditti
Characters
Mikhail Bulgakov
a writer, aged forty-seven
Yelena
his wife, thirty-something.
Vasilly
ex-aristo, sixty-something,
Praskovya
a teacher
Sergei
a young man
Grigory
a young writer
Anna
an actress
Vladimir
an NKVD officer
Stepan
an NKVD officer
Doctor
Two Actors
Man, Woman, Eva, Nurse, Two NKVD Men, Driver, Cleaner, Doctors, Apothecaries, Molière, Lagrange
and
Joseph Stalin
a dictator, aged fifty-nine
COLLABORATORS
Act One
One double bed.
One large table, two chairs.
Typewriter, decanter, and two glasses on table.
Telephone on a wooden stand.
Gramophone on a wooden stand.
One large cupboard/wardrobe with double sliding doors.
As the curtain rises, it is night.
Bulgakov is lying asleep.
Beside him on the bed is Yelena, also sleeping.
All is quiet.
Then there is a knocking sound. Soft at first but soon loud.
A rhythmic regular thumping.
Bulgakov awakes.
He shakes his wife but she does not stir.
He gets out of bed.
He searches for the source of the noise.
It grows louder and faster.
Eventually, he realises: the knocking comes from within the cupboard.
He approaches. Stands in front of the door.
The knocking reaches a coda, and with a final thump, it stops.
Cautiously, Bulgakov raises a hand to the door.
And suddenly the door slides violently open.
A backlit silhouetted figure inside lets out a yell.
Bulgakov jumps back with a shriek.
The figure jumps out.
He is Joseph Stalin.
Music starts: a silent-movie funny-chase tune.
Stalin pounces towards Bulgakov.
Bulgakov flees.
Stalin, slightly comedic – a malicious Groucho Marx – follows suit.
Stalin pursues Bulgakov around the room and over the bed.
A chase around the table.
Around and over the bed again.
Back to the table.
Stalin picks up the typewriter.
He swings it at Bulgakov.
Bulgakov evades but trips.
He lies on the floor.
He looks up to Stalin looming over him with the heavy typewriter.
Stalin mugs to the audience – ‘Will I or won’t I?’
Stalin brings the typewriter down with a vicious sneer.
Blackout.
Lights up. Dawn.
Mikhail Bulgakov is sitting on the side of his bed.
Head in his hands, breathing deeply.
A hand falls on his shoulder.
He turns to face Yelena.
Yelena Did he catch you?
Bulgakov No. No, he didn’t. I was too quick for him. Grabbed the typewriter, jammed his fingers in and typed ‘You bastard’ all across his knuckles.
Bulgakov begins to dress.
Yelena That’s a good sign. Did you have your clothes on?
Bulgakov I think so.
Yelena Did he?
Bulgakov Why? Do you secretly fantasise about your husband in a naked love romp with the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?
Yelena I just wondered if he was hairy.
Bulgakov He probably is, but I think it’s illegal to know.
Bulgakov kisses her on the cheek.
She looks at him with concern.
Yelena How do you feel?
Bulgakov Fine. I feel fine. I mean just the same. It’s nerves, Yelena. Anxiety. That’ll be the diagnosis.
He kisses her again.
Enter Praskovya and Vasilly, who sit at the table.
Bulgakov pulls on his jacket and crosses towards them.
Vasilly Good morning, Bulgakov!
Bulgakov Good morning, Vasilly, Praskovya.
Praskovya Good morning, Mr Bulgakov. How are you this morning?
Bulgakov I’m fine, thanks.
Praskovya But you look ill. An immediate and unassailable contradiction, I think.
Bulgakov No, really, I’m fine.
Praskovya You’ve lost weight. Your colour is poor. You have bad dreams.
Bulgakov No, I don’t.
Praskovya Did he catch you this time?
Bulgakov We are not going to talk about my dreams –
Praskovya He caught you.
Bulgakov No.
Praskovya He always catches you. There is no escape from him.
Bulgakov Praskovya, I am grateful for your concern.
Vasilly Coffee, Mikhail?
Bulgakov We have coffee?
Vasilly No. Of course not. I am simply uttering words of desire at random.
Bulgakov Large cup, please.
Vasilly And let’s see what else.
He slides opens the empty cupboard.
Look! Fresh fruit! Salami! Pickled vegetables!
He slides the door shut.
Bulgakov Nothing for me, thanks.
Praskovya You see. He’s not eating.
Bulgakov Only because there’s nothing to eat.
Vasilly Tell, me Mikhail, did you enjoy a hot bath this morning?
Bulgakov Vasilly – I forgot!
Vasilly So did I! Like the fool I am, I made do with a few drops of cold water rubbed vigorously into the creases of my dusty skin. I wouldn’t say it was enjoyable, but I was glad when it was over.
Praskovya Like life itself.
Vasilly Praskovya – teaching history, don’t you find that difficult? I mean, what do you do when your pupils ask what life was like in the old days?
Praskovya I tell them –
Vasilly You tell them!
Praskovya I tell them – it’s in the textbooks.
Vasilly But what if they say, ‘No, Madame, tell us what you remember’?
Praskovya I remember nothing.
Vasilly But you must remember something, Madame!
Praskovya Quite the opposite: it is imperative that I remember nothing, that no one remembers anything, and you would do well to remember that.
Vasilly Oh, but I can’t forget. You know something, Mikhail –
Bulgakov Your peasants loved you.
Vasilly My peasants loved me. I know you lefty liberals don’t like to hear that sort of thing, but it’s true. Oh yes, it was a system founded on oppression – I mean their grandfathers were serfs to my grandfather – and their well-being was entirely dependent on my benevolence – but at least I was benevolent.
Bulgakov No one starved on your estate.
Vasilly No one starved on my estate!
The cupboard door slides violently open.
A young man in fatigues steps out.
Sergei That is treason!
Praskovya and Vasilly are unperturbed.
Bulgakov Who is this?
Sergei Sergei Rastolnovich, Comrade. Shock Worker in the Red October engine factory.
Bulgakov And what is he doing in our kitchen cupboard?
Praskovya Assigned by the housing committee.
Bulgakov Our apartment is full. Two bedrooms barely worthy of the name. Vasilly sleeps in the cupboard in the hall! Are we now to have an adolescent where there ought to be tinned apricots?
Vasilly Tinned apricots! Please – Bulgakov!
Praskovya We all have to make sacrifices.
Sergei Only through personal sacrifice can we maintain the strength of the motherland. Personal sacrifice in the Soviet Union is a matter of honour and pride.
Vasilly You’ll fit in very well here. Coffee?
Enter Yelena.
She is dressed to go out and carries Bulgakov’s coat.
Ah, Madame Bulgakov, good morning! I have saved you two slices of yesterday’s bread and a small lump of something that might or might not be . . .
Yelena Thank you, Vasilly. I shall share it with my husband.
Praskovya He was caught last night. That’s a bad sign.
Yelena Good morning, Praskovya.
Bulgakov Meet Sergei. The new boy.
Yelena Delighted to meet you, Sergei. I hope you’re very happy here.
Sergei Comrade Madame Bulgakov – it is a great honour to be living in the depths of your cupboard.
Vasilly I’d stop there, young fellow. This man uses words for a living: a metaphor like that could lead you into all sorts of trouble.
Enter the Doctor. Dirty white coat, unshaven. He carries a stack of files under one arm, and a bag containing stethoscope, sphygmomanometer, etc.
He stands at the edge of the stage.
Doctor Next!
Yelena hands Bulgakov his coat.
Yelena Misha – we’d better go.
Bulgakov Yes, of course.
He pulls his coat on.
Vasilly Well, good luck, old man.
He shakes Bulgakov’s hand.
Praskovya kisses Yelena.
Praskovya I hope for the best. Though I fear for the worst.
Doctor Next! Come on!
Sergei The motherland will clutch you to its bosom and restore you with the milk of its kindness, issuing forth in limitless bounty –
Vasilly coughs.
Sergei stops.
Vasilly points into the cupboard.
Sergei withdraws.
Vasilly slides the door shut.
Doctor I have fifty patients to see this morning!
Bulgakov (to Vasilly and Praskovya) Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s nothing.
Vasilly takes Praskovya’s arm and they walk away.
Praskovya Did you see? He didn’t eat his breakfast.
She and Vasilly exit.
Bulgakov sits at the table.
Yelena stands behind him.
The Doctor strides across.
Yelena Good morning, Doctor.
Doctor Name.
Bulgakov Bulgakov. Mikhail.
Doctor The playwright?
Bulgakov Yes.
Doctor I saw one of your shows once. A woman responds to the economic woes of post-revolutionary Russia by establishing a bordello in a cramped Moscow apartment.
Bulgakov Madame Zoyka.
Doctor There was, at one point, as I recall, a more or less naked woman upon stage.
Bulgakov There may have been.
Doctor I disapproved. The following night, I disapproved more strongly still. And on the third night, now taking my place in the front row of the stalls, well, you can imagine –
Bulgakov The full extent of your disapproval.
Doctor We made eye contact. She smiled. At me.
Yelena Doctor, my husband is very ill.
Bulgakov It’s just nerves, I think.
Doctor Still working – is she?
Bulgakov Sorry?
Doctor That actress.
Bulgakov I believe so. I’m not sure where.
Doctor But you could find out. Could you?
Yelena He’s losing weight. He feels sick. He won’t eat. He’s tired all the time.
Doctor You could tell her that I’m a doctor, that I’m single, or at least I am for all practical purposes, and that I have my own –
He taps them.
Bulgakov Dentures?
Doctor Teeth.
Yelena Doctor. Please.
The Doctor sighs. Stands and walks around to Bulgakov.
Doctor Mouth.
Bulgakov opens wide.
Ah.
Bulgakov Aaaah . . .
He shines a torch in Bulgakov’s eyes.
Doctor Sleep?
Bulgakov Yes.
Yelena No. He doesn’t.
Bulgakov Badly . . . Only sometimes.
The Doctor prods his abdomen.
Doctor Pain?
Bulgakov No.
And harder.
Yes!
The Doctor wraps the sphyg cuff around Bulgakov’s arm –
Doctor I’ll never forget her . . . smile.
– and measures his blood pressure.
And are you aware of a tinge in your skin, a pigmentation?
Bulgakov No.
Yelena What does it mean? Please understand – my husband trained – as a doctor.
Bulgakov A long time ago.
Doctor What sort?
Bulgakov Venereologist.
Doctor A strange choice, I always think.
Bulgakov Someone has to do it.
Doctor Like writing plays! Tell me – have you ever used morphine? Personally, I mean.
Bulgakov Why?
Doctor Why not? A lot of doctors do. Stress. Fatigue. Loneliness. You wouldn’t be the first, I can tell you.
Yelena That’s all in the past.
Doctor Of course. Ever had high blood pressure before?
Bulgakov No.
Yelena Is it high now?
Doctor Now please – your arm.
Then he produces what he needs from his bag.
He ties a tourniquet around Bulgakov’s arm.
Enter a man in seventeenth-century French costume.
This is Molière.
The Doctor screws a needle on to his glass syringe.
He starts to take blood from Bulgakov.
Enter a Chorus of grotesque masked Doctors and Apothecaries brandishing huge syringes and knives.
The comic awarding of a diploma.
Chorus Bene, bene, bene, respondere / Dignus est intrare / in nostro corpore . . .
Molière Clisterum donare / Postea bleedare / afterwards . . . purgare.
Chorus Bene, bene, bene, respondere / Dignus est intrare / in nostro corpore . . .
Molière collapses. He cries out, staggers, and falls.
Molière Help me! Help me!
He falls on to the bed and dies.
The Doctor has completed the taking of blood from Bulgakov.
Doctor Come back next week. And if you do happen to bump into that actress . . .
He taps his teeth.
Yelena Doctor –
Doctor Good day, Madame!
Exit the Doctor.
Another masked character, Lagrange, steps forward from the Chorus.
Lagrange This day, while playing the role of Argon, Molière has collapsed on stage and was taken, unshriven, by the relentless hand of death. For this I shall mark the day with a black cross. What was the cause of it? Why did it happen? How shall I put it? The reason for this was the King’s disfavour.
The sound of applause and cheering.
Enter Grigory, clapping and cheering.
Molière, the Chorus, Lagrange pull
off masks.
Then they cross to meet Bulgakov and Yelena.
Grigory joins them. He greets one of the actors, Anna, with a kiss.
The mood is celebratory. Mutual congratulation. Champagne is produced.
Enter Vladimir and Stepan. They saunter on, conspicuous but unnoticed in their hats and black leather greatcoats.
Vladimir sits at the table.
Stepan stands back.
They watch the celebrating thespians impassively.
Yelena Misha – they loved it!
Bulgakov Do you think?
Yelena Yes! Of course. It’s been worth it, Misha, it’s all been worth it.
Bulgakov Everyone was great. You were wonderful! To my cast!
Anna To Mikhail!
Bulgakov To Molière!
Grigory To the King!
Bulgakov To autocracy!
Grigory Tyranny!
Bulgakov Tyranny without redress. Where would we be without it?
The joke is appreciated. All toast and the party continues.
Grigory approaches Bulgakov.
Grigory Well done, Mikhail.
Bulgakov Thanks, Grigory. Glad you enjoyed it.
Grigory It’s a statement. Man versus monster.
Bulgakov And the monster wins.
Grigory But the man never gives in. He dies true to his own beliefs.
Bulgakov That’s what they don’t like. They’d sooner you lived than you died free in your own mind.
Grigory Well, they won’t like what I’ve got for them then.
Bulgakov Your novel?
Grigory I’ve submitted it.
Bulgakov Be careful now! They’ll come back to you: listen, Comrade, this can be published, but you must make some changes, you must extol the virtues of our glorious leaders, display the unlimited happiness and sincere gratitude of the masses, and so on . . . But you take no notice.
Grigory I stand my ground.
Bulgakov You wait. You change nothing. You re-submit. If necessary, you re-submit again. You get there, in the end.
Anna approaches.
Anna The party’s moving on –
Grigory Mikhail?
Yelena It’s been a long day.
Bulgakov Yelena’s right. I’m old, I’m tired, I’ll only slow you down.
Yelena and Bulgakov make their goodbyes.
Grigory, Anna, the Chorus, etc., all exit.
Vladimir and Stepan still watch.
The lights fade and Yelena and Bulgakov meander towards the bed in moonlight.
Yelena I enjoyed it.
Bulgakov Really?
Yelena Of course. I’d tell you if I didn’t.
Bulgakov Would you?
Yelena Yes. I would. I mean not right now, obviously. But . . . eventually.