A Mirror E-Book

Sam Holcroft

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Serie: NHB Modern Plays
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 126

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

'With great pleasure Leyla & Joel Invite you to celebrate their marriage. Dress code is smart casual. Doors at 7.30 p.m., followed by the exchange of vows. And at the signal, the entertainment will begin. (This performance is being staged without a licence from the Ministry. We recognise the risk that each and every one of you is taking by attending and we salute your courage.)' A Mirror is an elusive, explosive play by Sam Holcroft, interrogating censorship, authorship and free speech. It premiered at the Almeida Theatre, London, in 2023, directed by Jeremy Herrin, and with a cast including Jonny Lee Miller, Tanya Reynolds and Micheal Ward. It transferred to the Trafalgar Theatre in the West End in 2024.

Leseprobe

Sam Holcroft

A MIRROR

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Original Production Details

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Characters

A Mirror

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

A Mirror was first performed at the Almeida Theatre, London, on 15 August 2023, with the following cast:

WEDDING GUEST

Sara Houghton

ČELIK

Jonny Lee Miller

SENIOR OFFICER

Aaron Neil

MEI

Tanya Reynolds

BAX

Geoffrey Streatfeild

MUSICIAN

Miriam Wakeling

ADEM

Micheal Ward

With

Sarah Carvalho

Aimee Dore

Mariella Dyckhoff

Evans Nwogu

Zak Shetewi

Elliot Tamatave

Kyle Walsh

Director

Jeremy Herrin

Set and Costume Designer

Max Jones

Lighting Designer

Azusa Ono

Composer and Sound Designer

Nick Powell

Fight Director

Jonathan Holby

Casting Director

Jessica Ronane

Costume Supervisor

Cáit Canavan

Assistant Director

Molly Stacey

Associate Designer

Ruth Hall

Casting Associate

Abby Galvin

Casting Assistants

Poppy Apter and Mary Clapp

Acknowledgements

I first visited Lebanon in April 2014, at the invitation of Elyse Dodgson, the indomitable International Director of the Royal Court Theatre. Elyse had arranged a week-long writing workshop, led by her frequent collaborator, David Greig, for a hand-picked group of Lebanese and Syrian writers.

The role of ‘the Ministry’ loomed large in our discussions with these writers. Both Syria and Lebanon operate systems of state censorship. Writers must submit their scripts to a censorship bureau within the Ministry of Culture for approval.

One playwright and film-maker attending our workshop, Lucien Bourjeily, had grown so frustrated with Lebanon’s censors that he wrote a satire set inside the censorship bureau – called Will It Pass Or Not? And then, in a truly heroic display of cheek, submitted that play to the Ministry for approval. It was (naturally) banned immediately. And Lucien’s passport was subsequently confiscated.

A Mirror is partly inspired by Lucien’s act of bravery, and I’d like to thank him for giving this project his blessing. His courage, and that of thousands of artists like him, around the world, both inspires and intimidates me – because I suspect, deep down, that I do not possess it. I’d also like to emphasise that the character of Adem is not Lucien, that A Mirror is not set in Lebanon, and that the events depicted in the play are entirely fictional.

I’d like to acknowledge the influence of Yuval Noah Harari’s book Sapiens on Mr Čelik’s views regarding the power of storytelling. Mr Čelik’s speeches on pages 43–44, in particular, owe a great deal to Mr Harari’s ideas.

Thanks to Martin Bright and Lumli Lumlong for illuminating conversations about the censorship of art and journalism. I’d like to thank the (many) people who’ve helped me shape the text of this play: Mel Kenyon, Zephy Losey, Jeremy Herrin, Rupert Goold, Stephanie Bain and Vicky Featherstone.

Finally, I’d like to thank my husband, Alastair Blyth. As Adem says to Čelik, ‘So many of the words were yours, I couldn’t claim all the credit.’ But I have, and you let me. Thank you.

S.H.

For Lucien Bourjeily

A braver writer than I will ever be

And for Elyse Dodgson

Who inspired playwrights around the world

(Including this one)

Characters

ČELIK/REGISTRAR, male

ADEM/GROOM, male

MEI/BRIDE, female

BAX/BEST MAN, male

SENIOR OFFICER, male

WEDDING GUEST

MUSICIAN

OFFICER PETROV and AGENTS OF THE COMMISSION FOR PUBLIC ORDER (CPO)

A forward slash (/) marks the point of interruption in overlapping dialogue.

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

Prelude

A wedding venue, plain and modestly decorated. Rows of seating either side of an aisle, leading up to a raised platform. A desk and three chairs arranged on the platform, adorned with flowers and candles. A MUSICIAN plays gentle music.

The audience are greeted as if they are guests at a wedding service – (bride or groom?) From now on, the audience will be referred to as the WEDDING GUESTS. They are shown to their seats by members of the WEDDING PARTY and provided with service sheets titled ‘The Wedding of Leyla and Joel’.

The REGISTRAR wanders the stage. He is a distinguished-looking man, wearing a slightly worn three-piece suit and leather gloves. Alongside him is a younger man, the GROOM, in a cheap, poorly fitting suit. They nod and smile (a little nervously) at various GUESTS.

When the last of the GUESTS has arrived, the REGISTRAR is given a signal by the BEST MAN (who is a little older than the GROOM). The music stops and the REGISTRAR steps forward to address the WEDDING GUESTS.

REGISTRAR. Would you all please stand for the Entrance of the Bride.

The WEDDING GUESTS stand. The MUSICIAN plays entrance music, as the rear doors open, and the BRIDE steps into the room. She wears a modest white dress, clutches a simple bouquet. Smiles nervously at the GUESTS as she steps down the aisle.

The GROOM smiles lovingly as she reaches his side – and they turn to face the REGISTRAR. The MUSICIAN concludes the song and the REGISTRAR addresses the GUESTS.

Would you all please be seated.

The WEDDING GUESTS sit.

Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, welcome to you all. And thank you for coming today to share this wonderful occasion. We are here to witness and celebrate the union of this man and this woman, in this venue which has been duly sanctioned for the celebration of marriage. If any person present knows of any reason why they should not be married according to the law, then they should declare it now.

The WEDDING GUESTS remain silent.

Leyla and Joel, before you are joined in matrimony, I must remind you both of the solemn and binding character of the vows you are about to make. Marriage, in this country, means the union of two people, voluntarily entered into for life. I am now going to ask each of you in turn to declare that you know of no legal reason why you may not be joined together in marriage. (To the GROOM.) Joel, please repeat after me: I do solemnly declare…

GROOM. I do solemnly declare…

REGISTRAR. Of my own accord and without coercion…

GROOM. Of my own accord and without coercion…

REGISTRAR. According to the constitution of this country…

GROOM. According to the constitution of this country…

REGISTRAR. And the oath I have sworn to its people, and its leadership…

GROOM. And the oath I have sworn to its people, and its leadership…

REGISTRAR. That I know not of any lawful impediment…

GROOM. That I know not of any lawful impediment…

REGISTRAR. Why I Joel…

GROOM. Why I Joel…

REGISTRAR. May not be joined in marriage to Leyla.

GROOM. May not be joined in marriage to Leyla.

REGISTRAR. Thank you, Joel. (To the BRIDE.) Leyla, please repeat after me. I do solemnly declare…

BRIDE. I do solemnly d–…

A GUEST stands. The BRIDE looks his way, distracted for a moment – but the GUEST doesn’t even glance at her, or make any apology for the interruption. After a moment of silence, the REGISTRAR nods towards the standing GUEST.

REGISTRAR. Officer.

GUEST (waving his hand dismissively, heading for the exit). Carry on.

REGISTRAR (to the BRIDE). I do solemnly declare…

BRIDE. I do solemnly declare…

REGISTRAR. Of my own accord and without coercion…

BRIDE. Of my own accord and without coercion…

The GUEST exits, the door swinging loudly shut behind him.

REGISTRAR. According to the constitution of this country…

BRIDE. According to constitution of this country…

The GROOM and REGISTRAR look towards the BEST MAN – who skirts the edge of the room to the rear doors, and pokes his head outside.

REGISTRAR. And the oath I have sworn to its people, and its leadership…

BRIDE. And the oath I have sworn to its people, and its leadership…

REGISTRAR. That I know not of any lawful impediment…

BRIDE. That I know not of any lawful impediment…

The BEST MAN gives a thumbs-up to the GROOM and REGISTRAR, and closes the rear doors. The REGISTRAR, GROOM and BRIDE quickly leave the stage, removing the flowers and candles from the table as they do so. The BEST MAN addresses the WEDDING GUESTS –

BEST MAN. Thank you, everyone, for your patience – we’ll be starting in a few moments.

To the side of the stage, the REGISTRAR, GROOM and BRIDE are swiftly helping each other change costume. The GROOM removes his tie and jacket, leaving only a plain shirt and trousers. The BRIDE helps the REGISTRAR to adorn his blazer with insignia.

Before we do, let me say how much we appreciate your presence here tonight. We know the risk that each and every one of you is taking, and we salute your courage. This performance is being staged without a licence from the Ministry. Anyone previously unaware of this should please feel free to leave now.

The WEDDING GUESTS are given the opportunity to leave – anyone who wants to can.

The BRIDE pulls a simple blazer over her dress, her wedding outfit now looking more like office attire. The BRIDE and GROOM slide the table centre-stage, placing chairs either side.

Without further ado, we present to you – ‘A Play’.

There may be some muted applause from the audience as the BRIDE, GROOM and BEST MAN leave the stage. The BEST MAN dims the lights from the back of the room – but angled lights remain focused on the platform/stage.

The play begins.

Scene One

Mr Čelik’s office, Ministry of Culture. A few desk accessories, including an intercom device, an engraved name plate and vase of flowers, all suggest this is the office of a senior-ranking official.

MEI (played by the BRIDE) enters. She has a stiff, military bearing. She’s closely followed by ADEM (played by the GROOM), who appears nervous.

MEI. You can wait in here – Mr Čelik will join you shortly.

ADEM. Right. (Beat.) Sorry – who?

MEI. The Director. Mr Čelik.

ADEM. The… sorry, the director of… plays?

MEI. Of the Ministry.

ADEM looks alarmed.

ADEM. The Ministry?

MEI. Yes. He won’t be long. His meeting with the Minister started late.

ADEM. Sorry, excuse me, is that… is this normal?

MEI. Yes, I think the Minister often runs late.

ADEM. No, I mean is it normal for someone like me to meet with the Director of the Ministry? Am I… Have I done something wrong?

MEI. I wouldn’t know.

ADEM. Please, anything you can tell me would –

MEI. This is my second week here, I don’t even work on this floor… I don’t know what’s standard procedure.

ADEM. But if I had done something wrong, then would this be the sort of thing which… No, okay. Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.

A beat, then MEI exits.

ADEM looks around anxiously. He goes to sit down – but can’t decide on which chair. He chooses one… changes his mind… chooses another. He smooths his shirt, and waits.

ČELIK enters (played by the REGISTRAR, still wearing his three-piece suit and leather gloves). ADEM immediately stands, bowing his head in deference. MEI enters behind ČELIK, carrying several folders and papers, which she lays on the desk, turning to the appropriate pages.

ČELIK. Mr Nariman. Hello, my name is Mr Čelik.

ADEM. Pleased to meet you, sir.

ČELIK heads straight for his desk, without shaking hands. ADEM stands ramrod straight.

ČELIK. Please sit – we don’t stand to attention here, this is the Ministry for Culture not the Ministry of Defence. (To MEI.) Thank you, Mei, I think that’s all we need – for now. Wait outside please.

MEI nods briskly and exits. ADEM sits.

Now, Mr Nariman – may I call you Adem?

ADEM. Yes, sir. Of course.

ČELIK. None of this ‘Yes sir, no sir’, ‘Mr Čelik’ is fine. Now, Adem, I expect you know why you’re here?

ADEM. I, um… not… completely.

ČELIK. But you are Mr Adem Nariman? You did write a play titled The Ninth Floor and submit it to the Ministry two months ago? This isn’t a case of mistaken identity?

ADEM. Oh, no – I mean, yes. That’s me. I did that. Because I thought… I mean, I was told that’s… what you’re supposed to do. When you write a play. Is that… Did I do something wrong?

A pause as ČELIK scrutinises ADEM from across the desk. ADEM fidgets nervously.

ČELIK. Usually, at this stage in the process, you’d receive a letter from the Ministry, perhaps inviting you to meet with one of our junior Readers. But in your case, the Reader in question felt it necessary to pass your script to her Supervisor, who passed it up to his Section Head, and from there it flew up every rung on the ladder, until it landed on my desk.

ADEM (quietly horrified). R… right.

ČELIK continues to scrutinise ADEM.

(Swallowing back unease.) I’m sorry, sir, Mr Čelik… Am I in some kind of trouble?

ČELIK searches ADEM’s face for something – but doesn’t seem to find an answer. He looks down at the papers in front of him.

ČELIK. It says here that you’re… a mechanic by trade – is that correct?

ADEM. That’s right.

ČELIK. Cars? Or agricultural equipment?

ADEM. Oh, er… cars mostly. Some bikes. Once a tank, but only because it broke down outside the garage.

ČELIK smiles.

ČELIK (checking his papers). But you used to be in the army?

ADEM (unnerved). Um… yes, Engineer Corps. Specialist, Four-Six Battalion. But I completed my service two years ago. I’m a plain old mechanic now. More carburettors, fewer landmines.

ADEM attempts a laugh, ČELIK watches him.

ČELIK. Actually, I have a problem with my car.

ADEM (suddenly hopeful). Really?

ČELIK. It’s making a knocking noise under the pedals. For about two weeks.

ADEM. Is that why I’m here – to fix your car?

ČELIK. No, no, it’s just – while you’re here.

ADEM. Oh. Well… sounds like your suspension bolt’s about to shear. You should get that looked at.

ČELIK. The Ministry’s repair plant says it’s nothing to worry about.

ADEM (hastily). Well, I’m sure they know what they’re talking about, of course. But I’d get it looked at all the same. Unscrewing a weak bolt takes thirty seconds, but once it shears you’ll have to drill it, punch it, and rethread it – could take hours. Weeks if the part’s unavailable. But you can repurpose one from another model if you know what you’re doing.

ČELIK. You can tell all of that just from a knocking sound?

ADEM. Well, it’s a common problem these days with the roads being… the way they are. And with replacement parts hard to come by, what with the shortages… it’s better to fix it before it fails. I see it as part of the service: it’s my job to know the breaking point of things.

A short pause.

ČELIK. But when you’re not repairing cars – or tanks – you also harbour literary aspirations.

ADEM. I don’t know about that.

ČELIK. Is this the first play you’ve written? It’s the first you’ve submitted to the Ministry – but is there a stack of Nariman manuscripts in a desk drawer somewhere?

ADEM. No, this is… it’s the first one.

ČELIK considers this.

ČELIK. A combat engineer, turned mechanic, turned playwright… Explain that to me. (Off ADEM’s confusion.) What was it that made you put down your spanners and pick up a pen, to write a piece of theatre?

ADEM. I… don’t know.