experimental theatre

Bombardment, Episode 11: Mirrors with Beveled Edges

/ Steve Patterson / Leave a comment

Splattworks continues its presentation of Bombardment, a two-act drama by Steve Patterson. The author will attempt to post an installment each day, but, if events intercede, installments may occur a day or so apart. So please be patient.

[EPISODE 11]

CARMELITA: No, ma’am.
ARETHA: Yes, you did! Don’t argue with me! You killed him!

ARETHA begins striking CARMELITA.

ARETHA: Unfaithful bitch! I let you in, but you’re treacherous! All of you! Let you into my home, my life! Rescued you from dirt, disease, rivers rotting with corpses! Gave you a room! Gave you pink wallpaper with curlicues, white enamel vanity, mirrors with beveled edges! Perfumes, powders, oils! What do you give me? How do you pay me back?

ARETHA grabs CARMELITA’s coat.

ARETHA: Give me this! My coat! From my animals! My skins! Without me, you wouldn’t know which arm goes where!

In trying to escape the blows, CARMELITA lets ARETHA have the coat. ARETHA catches her by the throat. Forces her to her knees.

ARETHA: This is ours! We give you a little! Pacify you! Your peace, our profit! But don’t think we can’t take it away! If we don’t get back what we put in! We’ll just give it to another! Fresh meat! A body that hasn’t learned to think!

ARETHA throws her on stage. Grabs the tire iron.

ARETHA: Spoiled trifle. Put your eye to the keyhole. Seen what you couldn’t imagine, but now you want. Once that germ takes hold, you can’t be trusted, you or your whole fucking people, and you ought to be wiped from the planet!

ARETHA raises tire iron to strike. Deafening sound of planes, screaming in.

The sound paralyzes ARETHA. CARMELITA crawls away, grabbing her coat and wrapping herself.

ARETHA: They’re coming! God, they’re coming back! What are we going to do? Don’t you hear them? Once they let the bombs loose, they fall everywhere. They don’t just fall on me. They fall on everyone. They fall on everything.
CARMELITA: There’s nothing you can do.
ARETHA: No! Before I took you in, you survived!
CARMELITA: Lie down. The shrapnel might go over your head. Everything else has.
ARETHA: I rescued you. From dirt, disease. Rotting bodies floating in the river. Pink wallpaper with curlicue patterns. Table. Desk. Perfumes. Powders. I rescued you? Or did someone rescue me? Someone took my hand. But what happened–

CARMELITA backhands ARETHA.

CARMELITA: Kneel.

[To be continued]

Bombardment, Episode 10: Orange Dust Obscures the Sun

/ Steve Patterson / Leave a comment

Splattworks continues its presentation of Bombardment, a two-act drama by Steve Patterson. The author will attempt to post an installment each day, but, if events intercede, installments may occur a day or so apart. So please be patient.

[EPISODE 10]

ARETHA: Well! I must look a horror, playing tag with death, and then tangled up with the like of you. Draw my bath. And not so hot this time! Nearly scorched my skin loose last time. Can’t have loose…. It isn’t is it? Do you see loose skin, Carmelita? Can you see my skin’s on tight?
CARMELITA: I can’t see, ma’am, that a thing has changed.
ARETHA: Relief! Change is so disquieting. Must gather oneself. So much to do, you couldn’t possibly imagine.

ARETHA tries to rise, but she’s too weak.

ARETHA: Carmelita. My legs. There’s something wrong with them. Are they supposed to bend this way? I can’t stand. Carmelita, I can’t stand! Help! Help me! I’m so. . .alone! Mr. Corno–
CARMELITA: Corno sleeps.
ARETHA: You. Of all people. Could be cruel to me.
CARMELITA: I have been taught so well.
ARETHA: You don’t under…. I can’t…trust. Everything’s a cross, double, triple-cross. Was it always thus? Why? What happened? This can’t be what we…. I don’t understand. I’m so small.

CARMELITA hesitates, helps her to her feet. ARETHA clings to her. CARMELITA brushes her hair back.

CARMELITA: Once, this face was kind.
ARETHA: Was it? I can’t…. It seems like a nice thing. To be way. But, too, it feel dangerous.
CARMELITA: Right now, face to face? This seems like danger?
ARETHA: Well, no. Of course. Yes. A little. Perhaps much. I’m getting littler, Carmelita.
CARMELITA: It’s as safe–or dangerous–as you choose to make it.

Pause, and then ARETHA melts into her. They hug, rocking back and forth, and, in a burst of exuberance, genuine joy, spin around until they trip over CORNO.

ARETHA: Corno!

ARETHA drops to her knees. As CARMELITA narrates, ARETHA reacts to her words.

CARMELITA: First is disbelief. Refusal to accept. As if doing so prohibits tragedy. “I can’t believe it.” “You must be joking.” “Tell me you’re joking.” This stage can last the rest of your life. Second is numbness. Stupefaction. Your arms are stupid. Your legs are stupid. Your toes and fingers forget how to work in concert. Your skin dries, cracks like burnt paper. Your chest shrinks, a buckskin drum rattling rice. Scent of oysters in the wind. On the horizon, orange dust obscures the sun. Third, there is anger.

ARETHA rises.

ARETHA: You did this!

[To be continued]

Bombardment, Episode 9: Oozing and Open

/ Steve Patterson / Leave a comment

Splattworks continues its presentation of Bombardment, a two-act drama by Steve Patterson. The author will attempt to post an installment each day, but, if events intercede, installments may occur a day or so apart. So please be patient.

[EPISODE 9]

ARETHA: You what?
CARMELITA: You were so unhappy! So weary! To help, to ease your suffering, I…put them in your brandy, Aretha.
ARETHA: Do not speak my name!

Slaps CARMELITA hard.

CARMELITA: As you wish. Ma’am.
ARETHA: My question. You are here. In my bed. Now. Barely dressed. Explain this.
CARMELITA: Yes. After the…in the. . .night. You try to sleep, your eyes closed. Your head side-to-side. Your breath fitful. All you can do is call Corno. Mr. Corno. Come home. Finally, sleep descends, easing round the castle. Servants sigh. Dab their eyes. Prepare their own beds. Then the cook says, the phone! If the phone rings! So we run to your room, and your head is thrown back, your mouth is open, your skin is blue! Behind your eyelids, your eyes flicked back and forth! Panicked. Searching. Dreaming. She’s dreaming, says the cook! She’s dreaming of Mr. Corno! She’s chasing him in her dreams! Chasing after love! Quiet her, Carmelita. Quiet her before her heart bursts. How do I do this? What do I do? The servants, they grab me. They pull from me my uniform. Force me into bed. Beside you. I say this is wrong! I am soiled! But you are cold! Frozen cold! The touch–my touch–does something. Warms you. Calms you. Quiets you. Your breath turns to fuchsia. Your spirit to green. Stars return. Here. At this intersection of dream and desire. Your sweat blending with mine. Our tears. Our breath. For a moment…peace.
ARETHA: I see. How very creative of you. But I know. Why you’re here. Who you wait for. You exploit my confidence, poison me with your drink and medicines, and your perfect tales of selflessness. Then have the gall to wait, an orchid, oozing and open, for him. Blooming beside my rapidly cooling corpse.
CARMELITA: No, ma’am. I would never–
ARETHA: You already have. Remove your oily stench from my bed. And conceal your hideousness. At once.

CARMELITA rises.

CARMELITA: As you command, ma’am.

[To be continued]

Bombardment, Episode 7: Clouding the Issue

/ Steve Patterson / Leave a comment


Splattworks continues its presentation of Bombardment, a two-act drama by Steve Patterson. The author will attempt to post an installment each day, but, if events intercede, installments may occur a day or so apart. So please be patient.

[EPISODE 7]

ACT, SCENE III

CARMELITA enters, pushing a shopping cart full of balloons, costumes, junk. Dressed like some kind of arctic ragpicker. Figures on stage appear dead, heaped over one another as though tossed about.

CARMELITA: During wartime, you get used to seeing corpses. But you never get used to seeing corpses that appear to have been dropped from high altitudes.

CARMELITA pulls the cap from her head. Her hair is a vibrant, untamed mass. The impact should be one of going from drab formlessness to startling beauty. CARMELITA checks the bodies. First PLACID, then CORNO, pulling him off ARETHA.

CARMELITA: In town, the disruption of bombs provides a ready distraction. Rubble blocks the streets. Water mains rupture. Hence, the official media concentrate on that which still functions. Fire trucks, for example. Fire trucks are reassuring. They’re very colorful, and the lines of water arching into a flame provide an image of control in the midst of chaos. But a twelve-year-old eviscerated by a shattered soda bottle, a spinster impaled on her own walker, a tiny scalp nestled in an otherwise empty bassinet: these can be nothing but chaos. And. . .we simply can’t have that.

CARMELITA pauses in checking ARETHA. Puts her ear to ARETHA’s chest. Rises.

CARMELITA: This clouds the issue. This does. Because the road awaits, the road away from. . ..

CARMELITA kneels and addresses ARETHA directly.

CARMELITA: You cause me grief, little one. You’re broken. Cracked. It’s pain for you. Pain if you open your eyes. Do what’s best, little kitten. Be wise. Let go of your beating. Release that stubborn notion. This is no life. Scheming. Fearful. Not even sure you can trust the sky. Relinquish. Escape. And return. Revised in a fresh, better form. Perhaps. How exciting! You’ll do this? I’ll touch your heart, and you’ll release it? Slip me its strength. It’ll power my legs, my spirit. We’ll both get away, hearts entwined in synergy. Then these games can fade to silence. The pain ends. Here. Forever. Yes? You’re ready, little heart? You’re ready to let go? All right. I’ll touch you, and you’ll let go. Ready? Right now. I’m touching you. Now. (Lays hands upon her. Waits. Nothing.) No. I suppose not.

CARMELITA rises. Takes off her scarves and rolls them into a pillow for ARETHA’s head. CARMELITA takes off her coat and places it over ARETHA. Underneath, CARMELITA wears a maid’s uniform. As she disrobes, she throws her clothes atop ARETHA before dashing under the pile with her.

[To be continued]

Bombardment Episode 6: A Glittering, Crystal Price Tag

/ Steve Patterson / Leave a comment


Splattworks continues its presentation of Bombardment, a two-act drama by Steve Patterson. The author will attempt to post an installment each day, but, if events intercede, installments may occur a day or so apart. So please be patient.

[EPISODE 6]

CORNO: Evening, dear. You look a fright. Nothing to say? You? The old silent treatment? What could I have done? Too much time at the office? Neglected your delicate filigree of need? Philandering? Me? Come now. Why would I want anyone else? You’re a goddess. Very nearly. (Sits beside her.) Perhaps you weren’t always a goddess. Maybe I wasn’t always a god. Even those born to it must be proven. As must those, my dear, who have risen to their esteemed positions through more circuitous routes. Through sweat or marriage or combinations of the two. Perhaps you feared, from experience, that you could be replaced by firmer flesh and more malleable aspirations. A tactical error. Happens when one brings intrigue into nostalgia. If anything about that formless creature attracted me, it was her resemblance you! Ah, strike that. Um, well, um…the wench had already been paid for! I was supposed to let that go to waste? You know how you feel about waste. I did as expected. As taught. If a grape dangles above one’s mouth, one eats. With savor. Ever seeking perfection. It’s right there. Waiting. Dangling. A glittering, crystal price tag. Hell. Let us simply kill the damned servants and start anew! No shame in admitting a mistake! There’s plenty to pick from, and they cost a pittance! A nice polished skein of muscle for you! And for me. . .for me, a creature of…ice. Whose very touch would freeze. Who is there but to look upon, as to say: as perfect as you are, you’ll never come even this close to my true desire! My purest love! That’s you, dear. There is a time for a man to grow up. Accept his place. I have arrived at that crossroads, and realize I was…perhaps miscalculating. So just. . .pull yourself together. We’ll go on as we’ve always gone. The choice is yours. That’s an order. Get up, Aretha. Quit playing around! (Shakes her.) Get up, goddamn it! It’s morning! It’s past-morning! I’m not lying to you! (Pulls her into his arms. She’s limp.) Goddamn, woman, this just isn’t done! Sleeping in all day! What will that cook say? Only one for breakfast, sir? What about the guests? They’ll long to see you. You know how they are. The way they talk. Then the pictures. The rumors. Rot in the magazines. Goddamn it! I can’t do this alone!

CORNO shakes her. She doesn’t respond. He lets her sink down. Lights fade to silhouette the players. In the background, the sounds of planes return.

CORNO: Ah. That will be fine. Your services are no longer required. Presently. (Planes louder.) Abort your mission. That’s your commander-in-chief talking. (Planes louder.) I said your presence…. Hello? Will no one in this kingdom play the slightest attention to their…? Those are my planes? Surely a radio problem. A failure to communicate. Misplaced coordinates. Friendlies about to correct their…. (Planes deafening.) Or. Perhaps not.

Lights out. Rolling thunder of airstrike. Planes and bombs fade out.

[To be continued]

Bombardment, Episode 5: True Sport Knows No Mercy

/ Steve Patterson / Leave a comment


Splattworks continues its presentation of Bombardment, a two-act drama by Steve Patterson. The author will attempt to post an installment each day, but, if events intercede, installments may occur a day or so apart. So please be patient.

[EPISODE 5]

ACT I, SCENE II

Lights up. CORNO sits. Behind him, ARETHA and PLACID lay limp, twisted, broken. CORNO pulls a pipe and packet of tobacco from his coat pocket. As he speaks, he breaks down the pipe, cleans it, puts it back together, pretends to load it.

CORNO: My house. I’ll smoke if I want. Used to smoke cigarettes. Playing Bogart. Man, how he could roll a ciggie, turning it in the flame. The measured inhale, squinting against the smoke. Exhale seeping between his lips. Pure love. Love flowing between his fingers and heading toward heaven. Love even in the way he squinted through the smoke. You knew she was looking back. Plus it kills you. With every single breath, you’re one step closer. One man’s stupidity is another man’s defiance. I smoke! I choose! That cloud above my head declares: I live!

CORNO lights his pipe, draws, and sits back, savoring the experience. Exhales demonstrably. There’s no visible smoke.

CORNO: For now.

CORNO rises and inspects the bodies.

CORNO: My kingdom. My subjects. Do you hear dissent? They dream of peace. Have they not been pacified? (To the audience.) Ah. You look at me, fixing me in the crosshairs of your judgment. Behind the chintz curtain you call conscience. A good king would never bomb his own people. Never turn his troops and machine guns against the hungry and the ill. Naïveté as a yardstick. You only see the smallest piece. Can only compare it to your limited morality, circumscribed by law. My law. Thus, you who counsel mercy for others condemn me with a glance.

CORNO drifts back toward PLACID. Rolls him onto his back with his shoe. CORNO looks through the weapons bag. Picks up the tire iron. Handles it like a golf club.

CORNO: There was a time when I was a mighty feared man on the green. Yes, yes, we made some deals out there. They thought a pampered boy like me wouldn’t hold up, my butler shooting all the toughies. Hah. We learned for sport. True sport knows not mercy. What makes it fun. Poor bastards never had a chance. (CORNO steadies PLACID’s head with his shoe. Eyes the shot.) Rough lie on this one. I think maybe a nine-iron. A gamble in this wind, but you only live once. Or twice. Knees bent. Elbows cocked. Measuring the green. (And. . .he can’t do it.) Well, bub, you play this through without me.

CORNO Drops the iron with a clang. Ambles over to ARETHA.

[To be continued]

Closing in on the Target

/ Steve Patterson / Leave a comment


As I announced a couple days ago, Splattworks, over the next few weeks, will be serializing my drama Bombardment in bite-sized installments. It’s not an entirely new idea: Dickens serialized many of his novels before publishing them as the books we know today. Technology now allows me to do the same—amazingly—all around the world. Because I know you’re out there, in L.A. and Savannah and Hong Kong and Jordan and Brisbane and Berlin and….

Why this play now? The last decade has been so turbulent, terrible, and sometimes downright bizarre, that it’s come to feel like one, long, unbroken disaster, where one never knows when or where the next airstrike’s coming in. Every day makes history; some days are just bigger and more unsettling than others. Lately, they all have been.

It also feels like we’re coming up on one of those decisive moments, where we can pull up at the last minute or disappear into darkness, where the disparity between rich and poor has grown so great that society’s seams are splintering. Not just in the United States, where I live, but everywhere. The planet itself seems to be shaking and baking itself to pieces. The future, to me, has never felt so unknowable. The times, it seems, have caught up with Bombardment. So I hope readers find something in the piece that they can keep for themselves, even if it’s just an image or a line here and there.

To me, the play still seems a wild child. With time and experience, I can see a younger writer trying to find his way. Like a musician coming to competence, he has to try a little bit of everything and work through his influences. So there’s some Beckett here, along with some Ionesco and Albee, a touch of Brecht, and whole hell of a lot of Shepard, particularly in those epic monologues. I was still learning to let characters talk to each other.

If nothing else, I hope Bombardment’s a diverting read. I’m just happy to take a breath and let it off the reins. Maybe something interesting will happen. Or maybe it’ll just run over the top of the hill, and never be seen again. Putting it out there feels a little…edgy. Exciting. Kind of like an opening night. And that’s what theatre…and all art…should be about.

One more bit of business, and then the play should begin on Saturday. Thanks.

[To be continued]

Blame it on Radiohead

/ Steve Patterson / Leave a comment


Kris Kristofferson used to do a song called “Blame it on the Stones,” back when moms and dads worried about the Rolling Stones destroying Western Civilization™ and running off with their daughters. All that trouble and mess and uncomfortable dinner conversation, it was all because of some damned artists.

That was some time ago; so, to stay a little more current, we’ll go with Radiohead to blame pointlessly, even though they’re more likely to discuss Western Civilization™ in depth over a nice cup of Earl Grey.

They have been a bit…subversive, however, in launching their last couple albums. The gorgeous In Rainbows was offered on a pay-what-you-will basis through their Website www.radiohead.com. The recent lush, wonderfully strange King of Limbs sells similarly through the Web, for a straight-up $6.00 U.S., and, shortly after release, the band threw in a couple extra songs (which, refreshingly, are very good).

So. In the spirit of skipping the middleman and gatekeepers, and going straight to the people who matter–the audience, I’m serializing one of my plays, a full-length drama in its entirety, right here on Splattworks. For free.

I’ll be presenting further details over the next few days, but here’s the news:

Splattworks will publish sequential excepts from my somewhat experimental, very dark, and brutally surreal drama BOMBARDMENT, an Oregon Book Award Finalist. (Above is a production still from the 1991 world premiere.)

Why that play released at this time will be explained. Paraphrasing a better-known playwright, also writing about one of his plays, there actually is a method to the madness…if a little madness to the method.

But, for now…blame it on Radiohead. Or, as Radiohead might say, blame it on the Black Star…which is where this play definitely lives. On that, more tomorrow.

[To be continued]