He kisses her.
Go on. Don’t let them leave.
Corinna Be quick.
Corinna goes out. We see her leave once more on the screen. Jerome grabs up a tape, the one of Geain. He goes out after her.
Voice (from Nan) Safety count commencing. Sixty – fifty-nine – fifty-eight – fifty-seven – fifty-six – fifty-five …
As the count continues, the Voice slowly gets quieter and quieter until only her lips are moving. Jerome appears on the screen at the front door. He seems about to leave, changes his mind and comes back into the flat, this time closing the front door. Nan’s count continues. So does the sound of missiles striking the shutters with increasing regularity. Jerome returns and goes to the console. He stops the recording machine and winds it back.
Jerome’s recorded voice … about us – restarting – was that just to persuade Geain to leave or –
Corinna’s recorded voice No, of cours–
Jerome spools forward again. He replays.
… both love you, Jerome. God knows why, but we love you. Love, love, love! All ri–
Jerome plays around with the recording some more. Nan continues in silence, her mouth barely moving.
Love! Love! Love! …
Jerome (like a man who has had a vision) My God!
He rushes round the room uncovering the rest of the technical equipment that, till now, has remained unseen. Nearly everything in the room, it transpires, is actually part of Jerome’s recording and sampling gear, including the coffee table. As he does this, a fresh series of furious clangs are heard on the shutters outside. These he all but ignores. While he does this, Nan’s countdown reaches zero and she shuts down. Quietly and with very little sign. She lifts one hand slightly and then lets it drop. A final wave. Her head slumps and she goes limp. Jerome begins to work feverishly now, treating the original sound of Corinna’s cry of ‘love’, sampling and synthesizing. A whole complex, interminable process, dramatically condensed into stage seconds. Jerome starts to play. At first improvising, then slowly growing in confidence as he goes, the texture ever thickening, building in volume. A great chorus of varying ‘love’s – all stemming from Corinna’s orginal. This is his ‘love’ composition. He plays for perhaps three or four minutes. During Jerome’s playing the doorbell must have rung unheard because the screen is filled with the faces of Corinna, Geain and Mervyn all silently shouting at the video camera outside to be readmitted. This is swiftly interrupted by the image of Lupus appearing on the screen – apparently the phone has rung, too. Jerome fails to notice any of it. Lupus is on some sort of hospital trolley – evidently on his way for surgery. He is swathed in bandages and is only barely recognizable. But his spirit, beneath all that, seems reasonably unimpaired. He waves his arms, talking animatedly, if inaudibly. He shows Jerome his one unbandaged thumb in a thumbs-up sign, as always reassuring his friend not to worry about him. Lupus is slowly wheeled away from the camera, up the corridor. This image is cross-cut with increasing speed as Corinna’s, Geain’s and Mervyn’s images momentarily override the incoming video call. Finally, a nurse’s hand switches off the hospital picture. On screen, at the front door, Corinna and company take a final look behind them and rush away. Rita, the Daughter of Darkness, yelling inaudible obscenities, comes racing up the hall brandishing an iron bar. Noticing the camera in passing, she pauses to smash it. The screen goes dark. Jerome, oblivious, plays on like a man possessed. Finally, with a great flourish, he finishes. A silence. He stands, triumphant.
Jerome (jubilant and breathless) That’s it! That’s it!
A silence. A missile, thrown from outside, clangs against the shutters. Jerome does not react.
(already feeling rather anti-climactic) That’s it. (He looks around him and sits.) Yeah! (Pause.) That’s it, then.
He sits all alone. And realizes how alone he is. As the missiles continue to clang – curtain.
MAN OF THE MOMENT
Characters
Vic Parks
Trudy, his wife
Cindy, aged seven, their daughter
Sharon Giffin, their children’s nanny
Ruy, their Spanish gardener
Marta, Ruy’s wife, their Spanish maid
Kenny Collins, Vic’s manager
Jill Rillington
Douglas Beechey
Ashley Barnes, a TV floor manager plus
seven actors (six non-speaking)
Setting: The patio/pool area of Vic’s and Trudy’s Mediterranean villa.
Time: One day, recently.
Man of the Moment was first performed in Scarborough at the Stephen Joseph Theatre in the Round on 10 August 1988. The cast was as follows:
Jill Rillington Lynette Edwards
Trudy Lesley Meade
Kenny Collins Simon Chandler
Ruy Daniel Collings
Douglas Beechey Jon Strickland
Vic Parks Peter Laird
Cindy Lisa Bailey or
Charlotte Kershaw
Sharon Giffin Shirley-Anne Selby
Marta Doreen Andrew
Ashley Barnes Peter Forbes
David Adam Godley
Directed by Alan Ayckbourn
Designed by Michael Holt
It was subsequently performed at the Globe Theatre, London, on 14 February 1990. The cast was as follows:
Jill Rillington Samantha Bond
Trudy Diane Bull
Kenny Collins Simon Chandler
Ruy Daniel Collings
Douglas Beechey Michael Gambon
Vic Parks Peter Bowles
Cindy Joanna Relf or
Diana Endsor
Sharon Giffin Shirley-Anne Selby
Marta Doreen Andrew
Ashley Barnes Terence Booth
David Paul Stewart
Directed by Alan Ayckbourn
Designed by Roger Glossop
Act One
The paved patio/pool area of a modern, moderate-sized (three-bedroomed) villa in a Spanish-speaking area of the Mediterranean. At one side, a glimpse of the villa itself. White stucco walls and wooden shutters. The edge of the living area – tiled floor with rugs – perhaps the end of what promises to be a very long drinks bar. Large, open sliding doors leading out from the living area on to a shaded area. Here, a table and chairs to seat about four. Moving away from the house further, a step down to a slightly sunken sunbathing area. Here, two or three sun loungers and a low table. At the other side, steps up again to the back gate of the villa, which in turn leads to a carport and the rough road.
Also visible, the raised, angled corner of the swimming pool (deep end). It is possible to walk around the pool, either along the deep end to reach the diving board (unseen) or along the poolside to reach the shallow end. One or two shrubs in tubs. Perhaps a toy left lying about, betraying the presence of young children.
At the start, though, none of this is visible. Just a light on Jill Rillington who sits on the patio in a chair beside the table, angled out facing away from the house. Jill is in her early thirties and looking good – certainly at first glance. Every inch the assured, charming TV reporter/presenter.
She is at present doing a piece to camera, though we won’t guess this immediately. The film crew are out of sight and remain so throughout. Sometimes we will hear their distant voices calling to Jill but their words are impossible to decipher.
Jill (to camera) Hallo. I’m Jill Rillington. In this edition of Their Paths Crossed, we tell a story that started seventeen years ago in the slow and sneet of a Surrey Novem … Oh, piss! Keep rolling. We’ll go again. Snow and sleet. Snow and sleet … (slowly) Snow – and – sleet … Here we go. Snow and sleet. Hallo. I’m Rill Jillington … My God, I don’t believe this – Right, straight in – keep turning. Hallo. I’m Jill Rillington. In this edition of Their Paths Crossed, we tell a story that started seventeen years ago in the snow and sleet of a Surrey November morning and finishes – (She gestures. As she does so, the lights spread out to include the whole
area, rather as if the camera had pulled hack to include her surroundings. We see she is wearing a discreet radio mic attached to her blouse. On the table beside her is a cardboard folder containing research material, press clippings and interview notes.) – here. In the brilliant sunshine of a glorious Mediterranean summer. It’s a story which has – fittingly perhaps – almost a fairy-tale ring to it. A tale with a hero and a villain – even a damsel in distress. But this is no child’s fable, it is a true story. This is the real world where nothing is as it seems. This is the real world where heroes are easily forgotten; this is the real world where the villains may, themselves, become heroes. And as for distressed damsels – well, are they in reality ever truly rescued? I’ll leave you, the viewer, to judge for yourself … (She pauses for a moment, looking towards the camera.) And – cut! OK?
A shout of assent from the crew.
Did you get the wide? (gesturing) The wide?
Crew replies.
Good. Did you get this whole area? (gesturing and yelling) This whole area?
A yell from one of the crew.
What? (She notices her radio mic.) Oh, yes. Sorry, Dan. Didn’t mean to burst your eardrums. Sorry, my love. (She consults her watch. She makes to yell again then thinks better of it.) George – (quietly) Sorry, love. Dan, can you tell George to set up the arrival shot. For the arrival. Can he do that? Where we talked about? On the bend? So we see this man’s taxi coming up the hill and their first meeting at the front door? OK? George knows where. I’ll be with you in a sec. Thank you, love. I’ll unplug. Save your batteries.
She unplugs her mic from its transmitter in her pocket and tucks away the lead. As she is doing this, Trudy comes out from the house rather tentatively. She is only a few years older than Jill but looks rather more. Possibly due to an over-eagerness to please her husband Vic, Trudy has attempted to retain the look of someone ten years younger; an image presumably with which he originally fell in love. She has taken rather more care than usual this morning as the TV cameras are about.
Trudy Sorry. Is it all right for me –?
Jill Yes, we’ve finished. It’s quite all right.
Trudy Would you all care for coffee? A cup of coffee?
Jill Well, I’d love one. I think the crew are probably OK. They seem to have brought their own – refreshments.
Trudy Sure?
Jill No, it’s probably best to let them get on. We need to set up for this new shot. I want to catch Mr Beechey actually arriving here straight from his hotel …
Trudy Yes, yes, yes …
Jill And hopefully his first meeting with your husband …
Trudy Yes, yes. I don’t know if Vic’s …
Jill Is he still not back?
Trudy Well, he should be. He said he would be. (moving to the gate) Kenny was going to see if he could … Just a minute, I’ll … (calling to someone) Kenny, is he coming? Can you see them? No?
Jill No?
Trudy No, I’m sorry. He only took the children down to the beach. With Sharon. She’s their nanny. You can usually see them on the beach down there … He did promise he’d be here …
Jill (rather coolly) Yes, he did.
Trudy It’s not like him to do this. I’ll make the coffee. It may have just slipped his mind. (smiling) Once he gets with the kids …
Trudy hurries back into the house.
Jill (smiling) Yes. (Sourly, looking at her watch again.) Bugger him.
She is gathering up her folder from the table as Kenny comes through the back gate. Late twenties or early thirties. He is one of the new breed of young manager/ agents with a cool, laid-back, slightly public school, unflappable exterior which just serves to conceal any insecurity beneath.
Kenny No. No sign.
Jill Well, where is he?
Kenny Digging on the beach. Burying the kids. Bonking the nanny. I don’t know.
Jill But he knew about this. He knew …
Kenny Oh, yes, he knew all right.
Jill I mean you knew it, Kenny, we talked about it last night …
Kenny I know, he definitely knew …
Jill He knew I wanted to catch their first meeting …
Kenny I know, I know …
Jill I needed that on camera. He knew that.
Kenny I know, he knew. He said you’d said it to him, I know …
Jill I said it to him. You know I did.
Kenny I know. He knew, all right, he knew …
Jill Then why the hell isn’t he here if he knew?
Kenny I don’t know. (Pause.) You know Vic.
Jill Yes.
Kenny You can’t tell him.
Jill I don’t see what makes him so special.
Kenny He’s a star, darling. A star. Isn’t he? (Pause.) He won’t let you down. Don’t worry.
Jill There’s no point in saying that. He just has.
Kenny You can film it later. The meeting. You can mock it up later.
Jill I doubt it.
Kenny Why not? Vic can do that. He’s a pro. He’s used to that. He did a programme once. Visiting sick kids in hospital. He was 140 miles away in a London studio. No one ever knew. Except the kids he was meant to be visiting. He can do that sort of thing. Piece of cake.
Jill I’m sure Vic could. I’m not so sure about Mr Beechey.
Kenny No?
Jill No.
Kenny Not your television natural, I take it?
Jill He’s about as lively as a sheet of laminated chipboard. I’ve just spent four days interviewing Mr Beechey. In his home town of Purley. I think I’ve got about twenty seconds of usable material. And those are the shots of Purley.
Kenny Not a talker?
Jill Oh, he talks. It’s just he never says anything. You know, when I first started out with the BBC as a radio interviewer, I went on this course and they warned us that one day we’d all of us find ourselves interviewing the uninterviewable. I thought, after ten years, I’d managed to escape. And then along comes Mr Beechey. (musing) It’s not that he won’t talk. You can usually cope with that. We all get that. Then you can generally coax them round. Eventually. Or you say something so blatantly incorrect about them, they’re forced to contradict you in self-defence. But this man, he’s deadly. The point is, there’s absolutely nothing you can say to him that he doesn’t agree with. He smothers you with approval. It’s like interviewing a fire blanket.
Kenny You normally only meet people like that during general elections, don’t you? What about Mrs Beechey? Any joy with her?
Jill She spent the four days we were there hiding in the boxroom. I never got to speak to her at all. All I’m hoping is, once he’s here – far away from the bright lights of Purley – he might open up.
Kenny (wandering to the gate to look) A little sunshine. Does wonders.
Jill Is Vic coming?
Kenny Can’t see him.
Jill Listen, Kenny, I hope he’s taking this seriously …
Kenny Of course. You know Vic. He’s a pro …
Jill I mean, this may just be another tacky little interview as far as he’s concerned …
Kenny He’s never said that –
Jill … a jokey programme which only merits an eighth of his attention …
Kenny Whoever said that –?
Jill … but for me this is important. It may not seem much to you, but if this works out – then I have their firm provisional promise of the other seven slots. That is eight in all …
Kenny (duly impressed) Eight, heavens!
Jill Plus – plus – wait for it! Plus another pencilled second series of eight in the New Year.
Kenny Sixteen, goodness …
Jill Right. Sixteen. Of my own series. Seventy per cent film – thirty per cent studio – me – nobody else – me alone –
Kenny (humouring her along) That’s some doing. These days.
Jill Oh, I know a lot of people are sitting back there waiting for me to fall flat on my arse. Colin and Martin thing. Clare. She certainly is. And th
at Richard – whatsit. They are all dying for that to happen … Well, I’ve got this far and no one is going to trip me up now. I’ve fought for this chance – just watch me go …
Kenny I will. I will …
Jill Not Mr Beechey, not you, not Vic, not that damp, septic tank of a film crew I’ve been landed with – and I know who saddled me with them, thank you very much, Mrs McIver, I’ll settle you when I get back home, madam, see if I don’t – God, is this mic still on? No … Oh, relief … Kenny, if the choice is this or making ten-minute promo videos of eager fringe companies from Stockport for the British Council, I know which I want to do. Just remember Vic owes me, Kenny. He owes me one. I helped him. Remember that. (pointing to herself) This kid from BBC Radio Bristol got that whole splendid career of his started. Remember that.
Kenny All right, all right.
Jill Just remember.
Kenny All right. Easy.
Pause. Jill simmers.
We love you. Promise. We’re all mad about you.
Jill (muttering) I don’t want love, I just want basic co-operation, all right?
Kenny (moving back to the gate) Relax.
Jill (looking at her watch again) He should be here. Why isn’t he here? Neither of them are here. This is all I need.
Kenny It’s only one minute past.
Jill By the time they get here, that film crew will want a break. I’ve never met anything like them. Every time they change film they have a union meeting. And it’s no use trying to do anything after lunch, because they’re all totally legless. There’s that much camera shake, you’d think we were filming on the top of Mount Etna …
Kenny (still at the gate) There’s a car in the distance just starting up the hill.
Jill Is it Vic?
Kenny No, it’s not the jeep. It looks like a taxi from here. Probably your Mr Beechey.
Alan Ayckbourn Plays 1 Page 32