The Last of the Haussmans E-Book

Stephen Beresford

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

Seitenzahl: 107

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

A funny, touching and at times savage portrait of a family full of longing that's losing its grip – The Last of the Haussmans examines the fate of the revolutionary generation. Anarchic, feisty but growing old, high-society drop-out Judy Haussman remains in spirit with the ashrams of the 1960s, while holding court in her dilapidated art deco house on the Devon coast. After an operation, she's joined by her wayward offspring, her sharp-eyed granddaughter, a local doctor and a troubled teenager who makes use of the family's crumbling swimming pool. Over a few sweltering months they alternately cling to and flee a chaotic world of all-day drinking, infatuations, long-held resentments, free love and failure. Stephen Beresford's play The Last of the Haussmans was first staged at the National Theatre, London, in 2012, in a production starring Julie Walters and Rory Kinnear.

Leseprobe

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Original Production

Characters

Act One

Act Two

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

For J.M. Lewthwaite

The Last of the Haussmans was first performed in the Lyttelton auditorium of the National Theatre, London, on 19 June 2012 (previews from 12 June), with the following cast:

DANIEL

Taron Egerton

NICK

Rory Kinnear

SUMMER

Isabella Laughland

LIBBY

Helen McCrory

PETER

Matthew Marsh

JUDY

Julie Walters

Director

Howard Davies

Designer

Vicki Mortimer

Lighting Designer

Mark Henderson

Sound Designer

Christopher Shutt

Projection Designer

Jon Driscoll

Characters

LIBBY, forties

NICK, late thirties

SUMMER, fifteen

JUDY, sixties

DANIEL, nineteen

PETER, fifties

A forward slash ( / ) in the text indicates the point at which the next speaker interrupts.

This text went to press before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed.

ACT ONE

Summer

Scene One

The garden and sun terrace of the Haussman family home on the South Devon coast. The house is a 1930’s art deco property in a state of virtual dereliction. The overgrown garden and terrace are littered with furniture – some of it garden furniture, some of it not – and the solarium, a glass room attached to the house with tall glass doors, is also piled high with junk. There is a large poster in the solarium of a charismatic, dark-eyed Indian man with a huge silver beard. This is the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh. A woman, LIBBY, stands in the garden, smoking. Facing her is a man, NICK. He’s unshaven and unkempt with nicotine-stained fingers, almost like a tramp – but with a faint air of the exotic about him.

LIBBY. I know you haven’t been looking after yourself because your nail varnish is chipped. And you’re incredibly thin.

NICK. I’ve always been thin.

LIBBY. Not like that.

Beat.

Hello, anyway.

NICK. Hello.

LIBBY. Do you want something to eat? I don’t know what there is. Ritz Crackers? For some reason she’s got boxes of the things.

NICK. Really, I’m fine.

LIBBY. Or quiche.

NICK. I’m alright actually, Libby. Thank you. I’ll just have a drink please. Dying for a drink.

LIBBY goes to fetch a glass.

Where is she?

LIBBY. Upstairs.

NICK. Am I – ? Do I have to go up?

LIBBY. You’d never wake her anyway. She sleeps all day and gets up when she’s hungry. She’s like a fucking badger.

NICK. Is she – ? I mean – Do I have to prepare myself?

LIBBY. What do you mean?

NICK. For the – I mean – is she changed?

LIBBY. Jesus, Nick, you’re not going to get stupid about this, are you? She had a melanoma so small it was removed with a local anaesthetic. Okay?

NICK. Alright.

LIBBY. It’s not Terms of Endearment.

LIBBY hands him a glass. Pause.

I had a lot of trouble tracking you down this time. None of the numbers I had for you worked. I was worried.

NICK. Don’t be.

LIBBY. I spoke to who knows how many people.

NICK. I move around.

LIBBY. Someone said you’d left your job.

NICK. Who?

LIBBY. I don’t know. Chris or something. Tim.

NICK. Rory?

LIBBY. I don’t know. Everyone passed me on to someone else. I got the impression you were sleeping on floors. I rang that guy in the end. What was his name? The one that you – Sandy? I never knew if you two were lovers. Or –

NICK. We weren’t. Exactly.

LIBBY. He told me you’d gone to Corfu.

NICK. I was living in this awful place, Lib. The people were – Somebody was trying to kill me. Seriously. This guy who was a friend of Sandy’s flatmate was actually threatening to kill me.

LIBBY. Why?

NICK. With a circular saw.

LIBBY. Why, I said. Not how.

NICK. Oh. Nothing. Housing benefit. And I’d heard about this amazing sort of beach community in Corfu. It sounded so wonderful. Just surrounded by sea and sky and space. So I fucked off.

LIBBY. To Corfu?

NICK. To Bristol. I couldn’t quite raise the funds for Corfu. But I had a friend in Bristol. Lois. Remember her? She lost her leg. She was in my recovery programme. Lois. The Quaker.

Beat.

Quaker now. Used to be a glue-sniffer. Anyway. That’s – How long have you been here?

LIBBY. Couple of weeks.

NICK. And what’s she like? I mean, apart from –

LIBBY. The same. Madder.

She suddenly stops.

She’s writing her memoirs.

NICK. Her what?

LIBBY. She’s writing a fucking book.

LIBBY has picked up a Dictaphone. She presses play. We hear JUDY’s voice.

JUDY (on Dictaphone). All one hundred and thirty-seven Sanskrit verses of the Guru Gita.

LIBBY. She’s – listen.

Fast-forward. Play.

JUDY (on Dictaphone). And you open like a flower…

LIBBY. Hang on a minute.

Fast-forward again, impatiently.

JUDY (on Dictaphone). Rice noodles…

Fast-forward again.

The spitting image of Burt Reynolds.

NICK. Does it matter?

LIBBY. Of course it matters. Do you want her version of events floating around out there? Unchallenged?

NICK. They wouldn’t publish it.

LIBBY. You’d be surprised what they’d publish. She sits here, night after night, dictating it to – and this is the other thing – her new best friend.

NICK. Who?

LIBBY. This doctor.

NICK. Dr Mays?

LIBBY. No – Dr Mays? Dr Mays is dead.

NICK. Is he?

LIBBY. Of course. What did you think he was going to do? Limp on for ever? This is the new GP. Only, he’s an old hippy, isn’t he? Sits here and drinks with her, night after night. Plays the guitar. How that can be good for her, Joan Baez and Bob fucking Dylan till three in the morning. And you should see the way he looks at me.

NICK. Oh?

LIBBY. Jesus Christ. I don’t know why I attract these old men.

Little pause.

She’ll be down in a minute.

NICK. What exactly happened?

LIBBY. What do you mean?

NICK. With the – raid – Is that what we call it?

LIBBY. It isn’t funny. What made it worse, the health visitor was Jackie Miller.

NICK. Who?

LIBBY. Her mother used to clean here. Couldn’t wait to get over the threshold. Dear me, she kept saying. It’s been very difficult to cope, hasn’t it? Eyes on stalks.

NICK. Jesus, I’m nervous.

LIBBY. Why?

NICK. Perhaps I’ll have another.

LIBBY. We’ve got three months. And then we get another check. They want to see significant improvements. I told them, it’s not going to happen overnight. But we need to do this, Nick. For us. I mean, this cancer has really brought it home to me. We could – Well. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t –

Beat.

I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of wandering around without a proper home.

SUMMER has walked out.

You remember Summer.

NICK. What? Summer? That can’t be Summer.

SUMMER. I’m pretty sure it is.

NICK. But she’s –

LIBBY. Fifteen.

(To SUMMER.) Are you hungry? I’m the only person in this house who eats. I’m going to wake her in a minute. This is ridiculous.

LIBBY disappears.

NICK. Do you know who I am? I’m Nick. I’m your Uncle Nick.

SUMMER. I know.

NICK. I remember you as a very little girl.

SUMMER. Right.

NICK. A very tiny little girl.

SUMMER. Yeah. That’s how we start out.

NICK gets another drink.

NICK. So… Are you…?

SUMMER. What did my mum say to you?

NICK. What?

SUMMER. About me? Did she slag me off?

NICK. No.

SUMMER. She’s got a lot of anger, don’t you think?

NICK. Your mum?

SUMMER. She carries it. Have you ever tried living with someone like that?

NICK. Yes. Yes. I have, as a matter of fact. He was a roofer. To tell you the truth, I’m quite frightened of her.

SUMMER. She’s frightened of you.

NICK. Don’t be ridiculous.

SUMMER. She is. She’s frightened you’ll get back on the smack.

NICK. What do you know about that?

SUMMER. I can remember it. When they found you in that flat and Mum brought you back here. I was six. You had to be carried upstairs. They fed you Ready brek. I did it once. It was the only thing you could keep down. You can remember a lot from the age of six.

NICK. Yes. Yes, you can.

Beat. SUMMER looks at the poster.

SUMMER. That guy.

NICK. Bhagwan.

SUMMER. Yeah. Bhagwan. He’s the one, isn’t he? The cult. He had fourteen Rolls Royces.

NICK. More, I should think. It wasn’t a cult. Not really.

SUMMER. They were all boning each other.

NICK. Yes. That much is true. They were. All boning each other.

SUMMER. I think she’s alright.

NICK. Judy?

SUMMER. Bit of a fucking hippy, but – Don’t you?

NICK. Well. I –

SUMMER. Don’t lie. Just because she’s had cancer.

NICK. I feel – I feel the same way about her as you do about your mother. I expect.

SUMMER. That whore. She wants me to go to my dad’s.

NICK. Ah.

SUMMER. For the whole summer.

NICK. I didn’t know your dad was on the scene.

SUMMER. He wasn’t. This is a new development. Why the fuck should I get farmed off on a total stranger so that she can get up to who the fuck knows what down here? It’s bullshit. Have you ever met him?

NICK. No.

SUMMER. Neither have I. I’m not going. He’s old, isn’t he?

NICK. Quite old. Older than your mum.

SUMMER. I was a mistake. Skiing holiday.

NICK. I know.

SUMMER. They didn’t even have a relationship. Stupid cow. And what the fuck she was doing on a skiing holiday is beyond me. Normally all she wants to do is lie on her arse and read Grazia. Lazy bitch. Are you gay?

NICK nods.

I’m bisexual.

NICK. You mustn’t be too hard on your mum. This – All this – It’s very stressful. Coming here. Dealing with Judy.

SUMMER. Is that what she told you? That she came here to deal with Judy?

NICK. That’s why we’re all here. Isn’t it? The clean-up?

SUMMER. We’re here because she got dumped.

NICK. What?

SUMMER. Roy. The bracelet-wearer. She needed somewhere to lick her wounds, didn’t she? This is what she always does. Run away. Can you imagine having sex with a man who wears chunky bracelets?

NICK. You’d be surprised the things I can imagine.

SUMMER. She’s got no class. I could have told her he wasn’t going to stick around. Why should he? She gave him everything he was after in the first three nights. They had sex in a golf cart.

LIBBY appears.

LIBBY. She’s getting up.

NICK. Libby –

LIBBY. Why don’t you take Nick’s bags upstairs.

NICK. Do you mind if I – I’m just a bit worried about how long all this is going to take.

LIBBY. What?

NICK. This. All this.

LIBBY. What do you mean, worried?

NICK. Well, I – I do have a sort of a – a commitment.

LIBBY. What?

NICK. I’m sort of expected somewhere.

LIBBY. I don’t believe this.

NICK. I’d come straight back –

LIBBY. No. NO. This is one time you are not leaving me with all the shit. Jesus Christ! Are you – ? Do you seriously think you can creep off again and leave it all to me? Summer, go upstairs. I am exhausted, Nicky –

NICK. Forget it, Lib –

LIBBY. I am sick and tired of it. All of it.

NICK. I know. Forget it. I didn’t mean it.

LIBBY. Summer –

SUMMER. Yeah, like I’m missing this.

NICK. I am absolutely not – I’m sorry. It was an error – I’m sorry. Libby, please – I won’t leave you. I won’t. I promise.

JUDY (off). Libby?

NICK. I think it was probably just a reaction. I’m – I just – I’m a bit tense – She makes me tense.

LIBBY. Just breathe.

NICK. Even her voice –

LIBBY. Look at me.

JUDY (off). Lib – ?

LIBBY. We’re outside!

SUMMER takes NICK’s bag inside. After a second, we see JUDY. She has long silver hair which is wild and unkempt and is wearing a very stained and rather incongruous Snoopy nightdress. She enters the garden. A little silence.

JUDY. Well.

NICK. Hello, Mum.

JUDY. Oh, Libby. Look. Isn’t he beautiful?

LIBBY. He’s very thin.

JUDY. That’s just his frame – Nijinsky. When did you arrive?

LIBBY. Just now.

JUDY. I’m in an absolute daze. Look at me.

LIBBY. You could’ve got dressed, Mum.

JUDY. Snoopy. I live in these tops. Tell me everything, Nick. I want to know. Are you well? He looks like my mother.

LIBBY. What?

JUDY. He has my mother’s beauty. Don’t you think? Her beautiful face.

LIBBY. He needs to look after himself.

JUDY. What for? He’s invincible like his old mum. What do you do, Nicky? I want to know all about your work. Do you write?

NICK. No.

JUDY. You ought to be a writer. I’ve always said that.

NICK. Really?

JUDY. Fiction. I’ve been saying it for years.

LIBBY. I’ve never heard you.

JUDY. How can we celebrate? Oh, Nick, aren’t you crazy about your niece?

NICK. Yes, I –

JUDY. She’s an Apache. Absolutely wild. Look – three generations.

LIBBY. We need to make a decision about sleeping arrangements.

JUDY. Yes, in a minute, Libby.