Shifters (NHB Modern Plays) E-Book

Benedict Lombe

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 93

Beschreibung

Dre and Des. Dream and Destiny. Young. Gifted. Black. He stayed. She left. Now, tragedy brings them crashing back into each other's lives – carrying new secrets and old scars that threaten to rewrite the past and reshape the future. Benedict Lombe's play Shifters is a fierce, funny and intoxicating romance about the enduring power – and fragility – of memory and love. It was first performed at the Bush Theatre, London, in 2024, directed by Artistic Director Lynette Linton.

Leseprobe

Benedict Lombe

SHIFTERS

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Original Production Details

Special Thanks

Characters

Notes on Text

Notes on Production

Shifters

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

Shifters was first performed at the Bush Theatre, London, on 16 February 2024. The cast was as follows:

DES(TINY)

Heather Agyepong

DRE(AM)

Tosin Cole

Director

Lynette Linton

Set&CostumeDesigner

Alex Berry

LightingDesigner

Neil Austin

SoundDesigner

Tony Gayle

Composer

XANA

MovementDirector

Shelley Maxwell

CostumeSupervisor

Malena Arcucci

ProductionDramaturg

Deirdre O’Halloran

BushAssociateDramaturg

Titilola Dawudu

CastingDirector

Heather Basten CDG

VoiceCoach

Joel Trill

ProductionDramatherapy

Wabriya King

AssistantComposer

Duramaney Kamara

DesignAssistant

Greta Dietz

CastingAssistants

Iman Wilson Amber Heslop

ProductionManager

Chloe Stally-Gibson

CompanyStageManager

Crystal Gayle

AssistantStageManager

Hayley Bowman

ProductionChiefLX

Jon Clark

The creative team would like to thank Katie Greenall, Ti Green, Sonia Friedman Productions and artists Georgia Mallin and Miriam Sugranyes.

Special Thanks

Lynette Linton

Daniel Bailey

Deirdre O’Halloran

Paddy Gervers

Tosin Cole

Heather Agyepong

And our wonderful creative team

Thank you for dreaming the dream with me.

Bx

‘Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.’

James Baldwin

Characters

DRE(AM), a Black man, sixteen – thirty-two years old

DES(TINY), a Black woman, sixteen – thirty-two years old

Notes on Text

Scenes in the present unfold over a number of hours.

Scenes in the past unfold over a number of years.

Dialogue without uppercase letters, full stops or other punctuation is continuous.

An asterisk (*) before a line indicates simultaneous speech.

Three asterisks (***) indicates a shift in time or perspective within a scene.

Notes on Production

Scenes are separated in the text but are intended to blend in and out of each other – like a memory, continuously transforming, eroding, shifting.

There is no interval.

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

I. ALLIES

One

Present. A funeral reception in a community hall.

DRE.I’m thirty-two. I’m at my nana’s wake.

It’s Sunday early evening

and things are coming to a natural end.

I know this –

not because the aunties and uncles

from this community that held her in their love

are now saying their goodbyes, oh no –

best believe that was hours ago

and they are all, very much (Quickly checks.)

– yup, still here.

I know this from a glance at the buffet table: egusi soup, plantain, puff puff, beef suya, mountains of barbecue chicken –

now all disappearing at a rate you might

call… ‘alarming’

if you were a casual observer.

But to those of us who are seasoned pros –

those of us who’ve borne witness throughout our lives

those of us who know what it takes to compete in the action-packed

gravity-defying extreme sport known only as Grabbing Leftovers After a Melanated Event – this, right here, is what’s up.

No do-overs. No take-backs.

Just win, lose or die.

I look up, just in time to see the disappointed frozen smile

on the face of a guest who just found this out, and I think:

Too slow. The game is the game, sucka.

And maybe – if I was thinking deeply

about my careful lack of deep thoughts at my nana’s funeral

I might wonder why I’m pretending my focus is on the buffet

but my eyes keep glancing at the door

and my heart keeps racing.

DES, thirty-two, enters, slightly out of breath.

Until this moment.

They stare at each other. Carefully, tentativelytake each other in. Then finally, DES smiles.

DES. Hi.

Beat.

DRE.Hi.

They stand – still in time – as DRE addressesus and the space itself begins to shift.

This moment –

which might be one of those moments when I finally deep what Einstein meant by ‘time is an illusion.’

Because the walls of this world we built the walls where time is linear and finite –

are starting to crumble.

The distinct sounds of a different environmentstart to creep in.

And in this moment, I – you – are both here and there

and time is moving and standing still

as memory is made skin –

The sounds get louder and louder.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow –

all real, all happening, all at the same time and suddenly –

Snap.

Two

A classroom.

DRE.You’re sixteen. You’re in Year 12.

It’s your first week at a new school, in a new town

and you are the living embodiment of:

‘I got in one little fight /

and my mom got scared /

and said you’re moving…’

with your grandma…

– to some place near Crewe.

South London it was not.

You’re in Philosophy, period three.

It’s a practical lesson on the art of debate run by Mr. Harris –

a man who ran debate club in a bygone era and now found himself questioning all his life choices.

So my man’s out here splitting the class into factions

to fight to the death, like a Hunger Games ting –

only the invitation to volunteer as tribute is being met with nothing but sweet, sweet silence.

And then a voice cuts through –

DES. But I don’t think I can argue this point, sir.

DRE.(Mildly intrigued.) And the voice has an accent –

vaguely familiar, but you can’t place it

in this place

where it feels

so out of place.

You clock Harris, now looking both vexed and relieved as he asks:

(A Northern accent.) ‘Meaning?’

DES. I don’t think it makes sense.

DRE.You’re getting the impression the voice might do this a lot

coz my guy’s already sounding tired, as he responds.

‘It’s just an exercise, Destiny.

Argue for the other side, if you want.’

DES. But I don’t ‘want.’ To choose a side.

Coz there are more than two sides and more than two choices.

DRE.(To her.) You still gotta be for something to know what you’re against though, innit?

DES now turns in her chair to look at him.

(To us.) And now she’s looking at you and the voice belongs to a face – with – eyes – eyes so sharp they could slice through your soul

eyes that seem both too old and too young

eyes you will come to learn have stoked rumours of superpowers

and you will think ‘yeah that tracks’.

And somewhere in all of this

you note that she might be the first person in this whole school

who looks like you.

So you say something memorable and deeply profound.

Beat.

(To her.) D’you get me?

DES. I don’t think that’s true.

DRE.(Pressing.) You don’t?

She turns back – surprised he’s still engagingwith her.

DES. No.

DES. Why not?

DES. It leaves people out.

DRE.In what way?

DES is now assessing him with more interest.

(To us.) You glimpse Harris in the background, eyes lighting up

as more heads now turn,

more ears now prick up –

involuntary witnesses to something that is building, and –

wait wait, she’s speaking.

DES. If we say there are only two choices, what about all the rest?

All the other ways of doing things?

DRE.I dunno – maybe decisions wouldn’t get made if there were too many choices?

DES. Maybe decisions shouldn’t be the most important thing?

DRE.How would anything get done if there were no decisions?

She gives him a curious look.

DES. You’re asking the wrong question.

DES now turns back around.

DRE.(To us.) ‘You’re asking the wrong question.’

Then she just… turns around

…like man’s in The Matrix?

Opening chords of Alice Smith’s cover of ‘IPut a Spell on You’ plays.

So this was it, then.

Starting as you would mean to go on.

Two little Black kids

destined to oppose each other

push each other

shift each other

until they could be formed again.

Three

They stare at each other. Carefully, tentatively take each otherin. Then finally, DES smiles

DES. Hi.

Beat.

DRE.Hi.

***

Present.

DES. I’m thirty-two. I have two puff puff stuffed in my mouth and – many, many thoughts.

Like. maybe it’s not possible to inhale two deep fried donuts with grace. So.

You know. Next time? Don’t?

Also. when exactly did my brain decide – without my consent –

to start calling them ‘puff puff’ instead if ‘beignets’

and betray my entire Congolese culture?

And then on top of that:

who gave these fluffy sweet balls of dough the audacity –

to make my whole heart stop?

Because that’s what’s happening right now.

Biting into them feels like biting into a dream.

A dream I haven’t had for a long time.

A dream I stopped having –

when I decided I don’t believe in destiny.

And the irony of it being my name? Yeah, not lost on me, trust me.

DRE.So you found the –

DES. Puff puff, yes. I did. Nana’s old recipe?

DRE.Still remember?

DES. ’Course.

DRE.I’m impressed. How long’s it been now? Eight years? Something like that?

Beat.

DES. Eight years, man.

DRE.Mad.

DES.Mad.

DRE.And you’re in town for how long?

DES. (Checks her watch.) Uhhh, three hours, give or take?

DRE.Yo.

DES. My flight’s at midnight.

Beat.

DRE.…Well damn, Cinderella.

DES. I’m on deadline.

DRE.But you’re here. Thank you, Des. For coming.

DES. I wouldn’t miss it… if I could help it.

DRE.Did miss one dope funeral dance-off

DES. don’t tell me that

DRE.bet there’s a video making rounds on

WhatsApp already… (Falters, less at ease.) probably with… chain mail.

DES. They stay chain mailing.

DRE.I’m telling you.

A silence. DES looks at him. He looks at her.

And just as she opens her mouth to saysomething –

DRE cocks his head towards the door,suddenly too casual.

What you sayin’ then. You coming?

DES. Coming?

DRE.Was about to get some air and a strong drink.

You’ve got, what? Three hours and counting down, right?

DES. Oh. Well, don’t you need to… (Gestures toeveryone else.)

DRE.Everyone’s leaving.

DES. Right.

DRE.You’re mad late, you know?

DES. I know, I feel terrible! I was meant to be getting in this morning and then there was this – sorry, no, very very boring story you – probably don’t wanna hear. Could I help now?

Maybe?

With anything?

DRE.Nah.

DES. Okay. Great. Now I feel useless and terrible.

DRE.You’re not useless.

DES. Just… (Self-consciously.) terrible?

DRE.Undecided. Might need whiskey to help me think.

DES. Whiskey, yes. Famous for thinking.

They both smile.

DRE.That’s what I’m saying.

DES. (To us.) No, I don’t believe in destiny.

Coz if destiny is the path laid out for you –

you still have to walk it. Choose it.

But every once in a while there are moments like this

DRE.Come on.

DES. (To us.) moments that make you question

DRE.Join me.

The space begins to shift.

DES. if what you choose really matters –

DRE.You got time?

DES. when you’ve chosen it already.

Snap.

Four