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ACT 1 Minimalistic and ascetic stage design. There is but a fence on the stage. It's a picket fence. One picket is brand new, while the fence is old; and if not old then at least middle aged. The freshness of this picket is catchy and attracts the audience's attention. The spectators are wondering how come there's a brand new picket in the fence. And only this one is new. Other pickets also should be replaced. Maybe soon they will be. Or maybe there were no more new pickets. Or maybe the renovation has just begun and in the beginning only the most rotten one has been replaced. Tormented by these puzzles and looking for solutions the spectators haven't noticed that the first act is over. The picket has been mute all the time. Said nothing. Didn't even creak, crack or squeak. ACT 2 Minimalistic and ascetic stage design. There is but the fence on the stage. It's a picket fence. One picket is brand new, while the fence is old. Of course, the picket is not that new as it was in the first act. It is one act older now, and the first act was longer that the statistical, typical first act in the statistical, typical theatre play is. The fence is also older, exactly as much older as the picket is. Can't be the other way. A different situation is not possible, although it would be extremely interesting. Maybe even somebody among the spectators considers the possibility of such impossible situation: the individual flow of time, or the lack of the objective, external, eternal time steadily flowing away... Yes. If there is somebody like that among the spectators let them be and let them ponder and wonder. Other spectators strive to notice any changes. I wouldn't be astonished if they began to play find to details which make the first act differ from the second one, or they started to bet spontaneously: what will change in the third act. However they notice nothing, because changes are imperceptible. The picket is mute. The fence is mute, too. ACT3 Minimalistic and ascetic stage design. There is but the fence on the stage. And of course there is the picket in this fence. The picket doesn't shine with novelty, and the fence doesn't shine with senility, since senility is not shiny by nature. Of course comparing to the fence the picket is shining, although it is not shining like it was shining in the beginning. It can't be the other way, unless somebody varnished the picket. It might happen that somebody varnished the whole fence, then the fence would shine. Or gleam – doesn't matter. Well, it wouldn't be clear whether it would shine with varnish or with senility. Fortunately nobody like that has appeared on the stage and varnished the fence. And the picket, either. ACT4 Minimalistic and ascetic stage design. There is but the fence on the stage. And of course there is the picket in this fence. The picket is still new, and the fence is still old... Yes, but... It seems the picket has got grey a little. Almost imperceptibly. So, it means that if somebody has really good eyesight, and is very careful and observant, can notice this grey shade even if it was to be rather a doubt, a hesitation, a suspicion than a real observation. More, a stain has appeared on the picket. The stain has an irregular form, jagged edges. Green-silverish. Is it a lichen? Yet we can't expect that during the break the spectators will start to study a biology of lichens to recognise and name the species. They will be talking of something different, if they are talking at all, and they will not notice a small book-shelf, with plenty books about lichens on it, standing at the wall in the corridor. ACT5 Minimalistic and ascetic stage design. Like it was. There is but the fence on the stage. And of course there is the picket in this fence. Like it was. The rail is still new, and the fence is still old. Well, in fact the fence is not older at all than it was. The fence seems the same as it was, while the picket is covered with lichens. Sometimes water is pouring down from above, and the wind is blowing from behind the wings. ACT6 Minimalistic and ascetic stage design. Like it was. There is but the fence on the stage. And of course there is the picket in this fence. Like it was. The picket is not new, it is middle-aged now, and the fence is still old. In fact the fence is not older than it was. The fence seems the same as it was, while the picket is covered with lichens. And with moss. Maybe a larva or a beetle has begun to devour a tunnel in it, but this can't be seen from outside. Sometimes the sun is shinning from above, and the snow is snowing from behind the wings. ACT7 Minimalistic and ascetic stage design. Like it was. There is but the fence on the stage. And of course there is the rail in this fence. Like it was. The rail is getting old, while the fence doesn't have to get old for it has been old from the very beginning... Is the fence slanting a little? Yes. This can be seen quite clearly. The rail keeps straight, and the fence does not. The fence is skewing, leaning. We can not say if the fence wants to fall down knocking down the picket as well, or it doesn't want to fall down and sees its last chance for rescue in this younger picket. It's hard to say, very hard. The picket is impenetrable. Nobody knows what it thinks. Nobody knows what its plans and plots are. Maybe it imagines this bloody old fence will finally fall down and then the picket will stand alone, free, straight, not nailed to anything, not fettered any more. Maybe it even will succeed to get rid of lichens, of green-silverish beards and dreadlocks and will shine again as if planed anew... ACT8 Minimalistic and ascetic stage design. Like it was. There is but the fence on the stage. And of course there is the picket in this fence. Like it was. Besides the fence there is also a bonfire. It burns somewhere in the back. In fact it's glowing, incandescent. It's dying. K.W. (it can be R.N. or G.I. or Z.F. or anybody else, however K.W. would be the best) is approaching the fence. He's looking carefully at it. He grasps the picket and tears it away with one strong pull, then the whole fence tumbles down on the floor and breaks into pieces. K.W. is going to the bonfire. Then absolutely unexpectedly the picket slips off his hands – it's strange, because the picket is not smooth... but porosity can easily turn into slimness after the rain – entangles between his legs, K.W. falls on the ground and thrashes a stone with his head (so there's also a stone on the stage, although it can't be seen because it is hidden behind the fence). Dead. The Picket: Hands off the picket, hey, you nasty buddy, Or your pretty body will get really muddy The curtain What a stupid end! The picket should say nothing, shouldn't try to create new folk proverbs. Of course, ends can be different, however each one will be tragic. For example: K.W. wants to chop the picket into smaller pieces; a piece jumps like a flash and hits his temple; K.W. falls down dead... And so on. Making a choice among colours and shape of this tragedy wouldn't have much sense... But the beginning is very wise. And I was just about to change it – during the whole first act somebody is fixing the fence and trying to fit and nail the new picket – but I will not do that. Then the play would be totally stupid; now it is wise-stupid. From wisdom to stupidity. It's almost a treatise on getting down, on downgrading. Now I can hear numberless condemning and disapproving voices, of course I can hear them only in my imagination, since nothing like that will take place in reality – to make such situation possible someone should at least read The History, though it would be much better if they experienced such history themselves – more, it must be someone who would like to discuss this matter – or someone whom this story touched so much that they are ready to open their mouth – and so on - - - - - I'm afraid I demand too much – assuming, I don't know if rightly, that my imagination doesn't belong to the reality, is not a part of reality, that reality is something external, parallel to my imagination and has nothing common with it, what itself could be really an exciting tragicomedy if not of condemnation, then at least of boredom, but not of indignation, although such voices can not be excluded, or of deep or shallow concern and of discouragement... Again a fence?... But there could be also voices of interest: why again a fence? is there anything so attractive in a simple, primitive fence? can a simple, primitive fence be weird enough to provoke a new trend in dramaturgy?.... And speculations, discussions, considerations, arguments, quarrels will begin. But first of all the attempts to generalize, to synthesize... Yes. Generalizing seems to be a kind of disease that needs to be diagnosed and treated. And if it is not an illness or disease, it is at least a disease-like phenomenon, which deserves a separate drama or a river-like novel later transformed into an endless TV series. This is the theatre repertoire. This is just the very beginning of the repertoire, only the second play. Nobody knows how rich this repertoire will be, what will be performed often and what only from time to time. I know. Here are next two plays: Beans and Broad Beans and Year 2028. I will say and write nothing more. Nothing is known yet, while opinions brooking no arguments and criticism about the tendencies can be heard at once... But this disease manifests in far more subtle way, almost invisibly. Strong and merciless winter behind the window. Frost and snow for almost two months. No breaks. No rest. No symptoms or trailers of thaw. I can hear them talking: this is nothing special, such winters happen, this is how winters should look like, such winters are typical for this region, for this climate, for this beyond-fence country. And such a winter happens every seventh or eighth year. So there are five or six mild, not typical winters with almost no snow and frost between two sharp and strong ones. Then I ask a question: what is more typical? And I hear the answer: with no doubt something non-typical is more typical than something typical. Of course, they are right. I will not argue, since it means they will be watching the history of a fence rail with flushed cheeks. <<< |