VERY LIKELY |
[trio] |
 |
It is getting beyond a
joke ... Is there life as we know it somewhere else out there? ...or not... |
| This play is a dramatic analogue of a chamber-music trio. |
| Each part is of equal importance. There are no protagonists, deuteragonists, or antagonists. |
|
What is the nature of creativity
they wonder? Well you would wouldn't you? Doesn't everybody? Has some creative complexifying impetus randomly evolved the living ecosystem in which they participate as a unique and solitary phenomenon? Umm....Pass.... |
| Reading/duplication/copying of the script is permitted free of any charge, provided that no parts are used for publication and/or sales for profit. |
| Modification of the script is expressly forbidden, unless explicitly approved by the author. |
| Performances of the play for profit will require a negotiated % of all seat sales to be forwarded. |
THE CAST
| TWEETIE: A slender balletic little lithe-wire. All her movements give the impression that a full swan-lake solo is imminent. A chirpilly descant people-person, with an impish sense of humor behind a cultivated froth façade. She is wearing dancers warm-up gear, and a long thick woolen hand-crafted cardigan. A bundle of attractive, provocative,cocktail-party fun. You would need sharp wits around this litle bird. She is attracted to CLEF because he both understands her and gives her plenty of freedom to explore her own potential. She likes PONDO for his larger than life erudition, and takes coquettish pleasure in playing upon his frustrated erotic inclinations. |
| CLEF: Confident, self-assured and creative. He is a switched-on audio plug-in. A scaffolding and bell-rope wire-tendoned climbing spiderman. Cool, realistic, logical,technocratic, and wearing all the right labels. He is keeping out the morning chill with a duffle-coat garment. He is comfortable with the obvious absurdities of life and enjoys consciously participating in them. Reads body-language fluently. He is both amused and attracted to TWEETIE by her complexity, and finds her very appealing physically. He enjoys jousting intellectual insults with PONDO. |
| PONDO:A quite substantial presence. He has avoided diet programs all his life. A gravitational personage with grandiloquent theatrical aspirations. He would play Falstaf as an elocutionary basso profundo. The mirror of his self image confirms an artistic and intellectual colossus, but seems not to reflect a severe clothing sense deficiency. His substantial frame is further encased in a huge second-hand fur coat of circus-tent dimensions. He is fascinated by TWEETIE, in a whimsical resigned kind of way, and responds to her deliberate provocations with a measure that underlines the seeming impossibility of any erotic relationship. CLEF is a rival, in a vaguely unrealistic manner, which of course gives a degree of frustrated impetus to his insult responses. |
THE PLAY
 |
From the pretentious bell-tower constructed on the highest point of their island the players can overlook the domain of their existence indulge in academic intellectual introspection explore social relationships and initiate continuing futile efforts to resolve the dilemma of their seemingly solitary cosmic/comic existence. |
FIRST MOVEMENT
| Pre-dawn darkness. The three protagonists are randomly struggling/stumbling with various burdens thru the darkened theatre auditorium simulating their climb up the steep dark winding staircase towards the rope-room. TWEETIE is leading, feeling her way cautiously. CLEF follows balancing several items, PONDO struggles awkwardly behind |
 |
| TWEETIE | You never told me about all this climbing and turning in the dark... I’m going to need a dizzy spell soon... |
| (feigning chirpingly chaotic) |
| CLEF stumbles on one of the steps. |
| CLEF | Lift the feet... man... lift the feet... mind on the job. |
| ( feedback controlled and focussed) |
| There is the sound of a large hollow coiled-tube brass object hitting/scraping the wall. |
| PONDO | Damnation!... Bleating bloody Ploughshares!.. ...another fucking trip to the panel-beaters... |
| (reverberatingly and ecclesiastically grandiloquent) |
| TWEETIE | Everyone stop a minute!.. it's a door I think... ahm...yes... here's the knob... |
| PONDO | Mistress of Misfortune... that I be not a door... open it... open it dear girl... |
| (mainly to himself) |
| CLEF | It's supposed to be locked... I've got the key... |
| The sound of the knob turning and the creaking door opening. |
| TWEETIE | Well it's not... Mr organized key-ring man ... |
| They shuffle and feel their way thru the door into the darkness. |
| PONDO | Disperse!...Tenebrous Umbra!...Let there be light!... Light that illumines!...Light that/ |
| (pontificating) |
| TWEETIE | /I can't find it. |
| (sharp interjection) |
| PONDO | Little searching-person...your affliction of velleity is egregious ineffectual... |
| TWEETIE | Jeezs Pondo......you are so full of shit... |
| PONDO | ...here we are...Clef and I...entrammelled with apparatii... we but require the digital reversal of a piece of circuitry... come dear Tweetie... give us some photons... |
| (cosmically oblivious) |
| TWEETIE | I don't do photons... |
| (petulant) |
| CLEF | Just find the godam switch... |
| (arms stretched to breaking point) |
| TWEETIE | I don't think there is one... |
| CLEF | Light a match... |
| TWEETIE | I don't use matches... |
| CLEF | There's some in my pocket... |
| TWEETIE | Light one for me Cleffie will you?... |
| CLEF | I've got a shit load of gear here...come and get it... |
| Diverse trips and mutterings in the dark. |
| TWEETIE | Is this you?... |
| CLEF | Probably... |
| TWEETIE | Which pocket?.... |
| CLEF | Left... |
| TWEETIE | ...ahm...have you got zippers on your pockets? |
| (deliberately winding him up) |
| CLEF | That's the way I'm pointing dopey...try 90 degrees anti clockwise... |
| TWEETIE | How can I see my watch in the dark?... |
| PONDO | Spirits of the Night have mercy...you've got a digital watch little savant...I am about to drop my dribble machine... if that gets bent more than it is already...you'll have more than a bit of fiddling in the dark to contend with... |
| CLEF | Don't move... I'll turn.....there... that pocket... right... got them?... |
| TWEETIE | I've got something... what else is in here?... |
| (she's been here before) |
| CLEF | The box!...just get the box!... |
| TWEETIE | I didn't know you played cricket....I've got it... I've got it... |
 |
After a few attempts, a solitary flame illuminates the darkness, and reveals a few hints as to the forms of the players. A few moments searching by TWEETIE to get her bearings, and the match goes out. Another match is struck, and the light switch is located. |
| TWEETIE | There!... |
| A single dim yellow bulb glows thru encrusted cobwebs and grime |  |
suspended dubiously on an ancient frayed umbilical chord. |
| PONDO | That... is the light?... |
| (incredulous) |
| CLEF | It emits... enough to see... |
| Indeed there is. Just. We can now make out who is who. |
| PONDO | By the Anti-Saints Asseverations... that bulb is a genuine relic... an artifact... |
| CLEF | Relic or not... that might have to be my power source... |
| PONDO | Come come now dear associate mine... methinks it would not tolerate manipulation... besides...we need the lumens.. |
| TWEETIE | There's another socket on the wall... |
| CLEF | Where? |
| TWEETIE | Right beside you... there... |
| PONDO | That's a relief... for some as yet undetermined reason... I don't perform at all well in the dark... its all very well for you avant-garde night-club plug-in creators... but I experience some considerable difficulties furnishing pneumatic power in the total absence of light... |
| He inverts his tuba and carefully stands it on the ground on the bell opening |
| TWEETIE | Really Pondo... you've only got to blow... I can do it with my eyes shut... |
| PONDO | I know... I know... it's a profoundly limiting constraint... however.... Clef my friend... are you going to be blest with adequate wattage??? |
| CLEF | Don't bloody know yet do I?... but nothing that a six-inch nail in the fuse box wouldn't fix... I need this table shifted first... |
| He lowers the electronic gear onto the ancient table. |
| CLEF | ... over near that power point... can someone grab the other end?... |
| TWEETIE moves over and takes hold of the opposite end. |
| PONDO | One moment dear little elf-person... allow me... |
| TWEETIE | Don't you worry about me lovely sumo-man... I can lift my own body weight... you couldn't manage your weight with a fork-lift.. |
| (teasing) |
| PONDO | Hyperbole... malicious hyperbole... carry on then little sprung-steel person... I'll get the chairs.. |
| TWEETIE and CLEF move the table over to where the power point was located. PONDO flamboyantly takes hold of the outer chair of the stack, and bounces and bangs it around to dislodge the accumulation of dirt and dust. A cloud of airborne particles drifts into the light like the vast clouds of interstellar dust, from which the multitudes of galaxies condensed. |
| TWEETIE | Pondo!... you don't have to spread it around... I don't need an asthma attack just at the moment... look what you've done... we can't breathe that... |
| CLEF | Open the windows... get some sort of cross flow... don't worry about a bloody chair for me... |
| TWEETIE | Nor me... we're not going to be that long... |
| PONDO | Well I need one... |
| The lone light bulb in the centre radiates outwards like a little sun,
illuminating one side only of the three planetary thespians. PONDO's dust cloud swirls as he continues to get his chair unfolded and cleaned with barely diminished enthusiasm. TWEETIE orbits around the room opening a couple of windows on opposite sides of the room. CLEF busies himself connecting up his turntables, synthesizer, and mini speakers, and checking the power supply. PONDO retrieves his tuba, seats himself on his chair, puts the mouthpiece in, and breathes a few time thru the instrument to begin the warming up process. The dust cloud gently drifts away towards one of the windows. He plays a couple of notes, and then a very competent run up and down the basic scale. TWEETIE stands near the open window that is admitting the clean air, and commences a few deep breathing exercises and some ballet limbering up stretches. CLEF switches everything on and tests for continuity and output, inducing various electronic hums and clicks and oscillations. |
| PONDO | So?... are we phased in then?... |
| CLEF | Loops closed... locked... and synthesized... |
| PONDO | Little swan-lake person... but where is your apparatus?... were you not to provide us with the descant?... |
| TWEETIE | I didn't forget it... it's here... |
| PONDO | Come then...let's have it out and limbered up.. |
| TWEETIE | I only brought one bottle... |
| PONDO | ... bottle?... of what?... dare one enquire?... |
| TWEETIE | Just water... |
| PONDO | Water?... |
| TWEETIE extracts a plastic bottle of spring drinking water from one pocket of the cardigan, and a little plastic whistle in the shape of a bird from the other. |
| TWEETIE | You keep calling me "Tweetie"... so I've bought a bird whistle... |
| CLEF | Can we get started... time's getting on... |
| PONDO | Indeed... indeed... just let us but preview the nature of this moist music.... |
| TWEETIE fills the whistle with a little water, has a drink herself, and proceeds to blow a few quasi-bird chirps on it. She blows gently at first, and then cannot resist blowing as hard as she can, spraying water out and over her face and clothes. She cracks up giggling. |
| PONDO | Beautiful... exquisite... now indeed are we complete... Clef with his mimesis of interstellar vibrations... I with my resonant harmonies of the human psyche... and our little Tweetie with her primordial notes of maternal nature... what music shall we three create?... |
| CLEF | Can we bloody start for krysake... |
| (looking at watch) |
| PONDO | Indeed... indeed... you wish me to lead... |
| (presumptious) |
| CLEF | Not particularly... |
| (deflating) |
| PONDO | No?... |
| CLEF | ...Not particularly... |
| PONDO | So... what exactly did you have in mind then?... |
| (faintly injured) |
| TWEETIE | Oh go on... you can go first... we'll have a turn next... |
| PONDO | Thank you little sprite... you both have some ideas then?... |
| CLEF | ...of course... why the surprise?... |
| PONDO | ...surprise?... did I seem surprised?... I certainly didn't think of myself as being surprised... but if you consider at all, that I seemed unjustifiably confounded... please... my expiatory... |
| (blusterish) |
| TWEETIE | That's all right... let's just toss to see who goes first... |
| PONDO | ... you just suggested I go first |
| TWEETIE gets a little purse from out of her cardigan pocket and extracts her lucky coin. |
| TWEETIE | ...sort of... you call... and I'll just toss until it comes up.. |
| PONDO | Ah well... can't be fairer than that I suppose... tails... |
| TWEETIE flips and catches the coin several times until the coin comes up tails. |
| TWEETIE | Tails!... see!... even the laws of chance are on your side... |
| CLEF | The only certainty round here, as far as you two tossers are concerned... is that we are right on schedule for missing our first transmission ring deadline... |
| He continues to adjust and tune his electronic system. |
| PONDO | Then we must start... allow me to delineate... no... merely to adumbrate... those principles of improvisation which...after extended and mature consideration... I deem to be intrinsic to aesthetic creativity... |
| CLEF | Is this another fucking lecture or something?... |
| PONDO | ... ah... no.... no.... |
| TWEETIE | Thank goodness for that... I'm not even awake yet.. |
| PONDO | Anoesis incarnate... what would you have me do then? |
| CLEF | Improvise for fuck's sake... improvise... what we came here for... |
| PONDO | To improvise... ah yes... but erudite improvisation... let us not be guilty of aimless twiddling... we must ad lib with form and style... |
| TWEETIE | I don't mind twiddling.. |
| PONDO | Neither do I my balletic...neither do I... but I posses this overpowering predilection for structured twiddling... |
| CLEF | Listen... compressed-air-bottle-man... we ring the first peal in five minutes.. |
| PONDO | Then we shall expedite... tell me... why are we here then?.. |
| TWEETIE | ... for a bit of fun.. |
| PONDO | ...ah yes... but why now... why here... at this moment. |
| TWEETIE | we know that... we've already decided that... honestly Pondo... you are worse than an insurance advertisement... you need a good script writer.. |
| (doing ballet stretching exercises) |
| PONDO | yes indeed... the equinox... and the hour before dawn... Clef... are you happy?... |
| CLEF | What's happy?... I'm not depressed... but I will be if you keep working on it... |
| PONDO | Joyful then... Tweetie... are you a joyful little song bird?.. |
| TWEETIE | I'm joyful... I'm joyful... sign me up.. |
| (ballet pose) |
| PONDO | Wonderul... we are now committed to major thirds... Clef... shall we orchestrate?... |
| TWEETIE | TWEETIE What am I supposed to do... I don't do thirds.. |
| (another pose) |
| PONDO | Just chirp cheerfully.... (to CLEF)... key of C ok?.. |
| CLEF nods, they tune in briefly, and then ad lib several bars of a rhythmic pattern, rather reminescent of "Mary had a little Lamb", while Tweeie moistly warbles. |
| PONDO | Sounds of sproutings... Vernal seedings... symbolic rituals of the creative font...but... but... can we yet say... that our venture is extant?... can we yet say it is here actually?... |
| TWEETIE | I certainly can... " is here actually "... there... I didn't find that very difficult... |
| (a pirouette or two) |
| PONDO | No-no... no indeed... it is but poised... imminent... awaiting our ritual aesthetic of launching... we are not yet actually happy... because our venture not yet actually ... our pleasure is our longing.. |
| CLEF | Two minutes to ring number one Gas-man... |
| (looking at his watch again) |
| PONDO | I know... I know... but my point is... because of out pleasureable longing for the beginning of our enterprise, co-temporally associated with the vernal equinox... we are conceptually committed to the use of major sixths.. |
| TWEETIE | I can't do sixths any more than thirds... if fact it's twice as impossible... |
| PONDO | Anti-cia-pation is instrinsic to the very essence of your every sound... just be artistic rhythmically... leave the burthen of tonality to Clef and myself... come let us incorporate some sixths in whole tone tension to the dominant...let us recognise the source of all ... with a creation of our own... |
| They improvise rather randomly together to begin with, but gradually
evolving towards a hybrid cross of tonalities reminiscent of both
"Auld Lang Syne" and "Mama's Little Baby loves Shortnin Bread". The light sputters and flickers in exasperation. CLEF looks at his watch |
| CLEF | Hold it!... twenty seconds to the Twenty-to!... |
| They stop their playing, leave their instruments, and scramble over to the bell ropes. |
 |
 |
 |
| PONDO grabs the "treble" dinger. | CLEF gets the "alto" | TWEETIE ends up with the big "bass" bastard |
| TWEETIE wraps her hands elaborately thru the tailend loop of the big bell. CLEF watches the seconds increment on his watch |
 |
| CLEF | Antepenultimate-random-cosmic-signal-ring ... for 30 seconds.... commence...now! |
| They know nothing whatsoever of the bell-ringers art! PONDO gets his bell going immediately. CLEF heaves some effort into it, and gets his one going after a couple of pulls. TWEETIE has to swing her whole weight into the enterprise and co-ordinate her efforts to bring the resonant amplitude up to specifications. The three bells bong joyfully out into the unsuspecting pre-dawn sleeping universe. PONDO's bell has no chance what-so-ever of overcoming his inertial mass, and he carries out his part with gravitational nonchalance. CLEF and his bell are well matched, and he can just lift his feet off the floor as he inputs maximum athletic effort into each swing. TWEETIE is gradually yo-yoed up and down a considerable height as she times her efforts to optimize her circumstances. |
| CLEF | 30 seconds up... Stop Bells! |
| PONDO casually arrests his charge. CLEF follows a couple of swings later. TWEETIE's wrist is gripped firmly by the rope loop and she is oscillated on by the energy she has managed to accumulate in her massive instrument. |
| TWEETIE | Mine won't stop!!! |
| (momentary nuance of panic) |
| CLEF | Let go twitt!... |
| TWEETIE | Can't...my hand's caught!... |
| PONDO and CLEF both step over and grab the rope, and damp the swings down to nothing after two or three combined braking pulls. |
| PONDO | There... rescued by a gentleman of substance.. |
| (quietly gallant) |
| CLEF | Why did you twist it round your wrist like that...you dopey bugger... |
| (grinning affectionately) |
| TWEETIE | That was an awful experience... phew... my heart's still going... |
| (theatrical milking) |
| CLEF | Lucky you... |
| She untangles her wrist from the loop of rope and examines the damage. CLEF holds her hand and check it for himself. |
| TWEETIE | Ouch... look... it's almost taken the skin off... |
| CLEF | You'll survive... no need for the emergency services just yet... (kisses the spot better) |
| (pulls a gentle wry face) |
| PONDO | Not too much fuss from that girl there... we headmistresses expect our girls to maintain the long tradition of resilience and fortitude... and to stay away from the bike-sheds when boys like him are in the area... you just come along with me now and sit down quietly in the sickroom for a while.. |
| (examining the wound pseudo-dispassionately) |
| PONDO guides her over to his chair and seats her, all the while effusing
an air of contrived dramatic solicitude. There is a pause for a few moments before beginning the second movement. |
SECOND MOVEMENT
| PONDO extracts a bottle of local bubbly from a recess in his enormous coat. He opens the bottle. He has glasses in other pockets |
| PONDO | To marginally pre-empting the launch of our endeavour... what are a few minutes when she's poised on the slip-way?... |
| CLEF | You're not smashing a bottle of that over the prow of anything... |
| PONDO fills glasses for the other two in turn. |
| TWEETIE | No... there's to be no launchings with a broken bottle.. |
| PONDO | Point taken... point taken... here... a palatable salute then... "to the impending"... |
| CLEF | Geezuz Pondo..... let me know when you come down to earth.?.. you're fucking heavy enough... it cant be long now... |
| PONDO | Well then dear collegues... what lines of improvised structure and form shall we explore next?... |
| (blithely ignoring the jibe) |
| TWEETIE | Nothing as boring as the first one... really Pondo... I thought your idea was just too contrived for words... you're no fun at all... you always talk such a lot of nonsense that no-one can understand... |
| PONDO refills her glass. |
| PONDO | Do I indeed... why would you cruelly perforate the very membrane of my tremulous ego?... I... who unashamedly adore your every manifestation... so...what would you suggest?.. |
| (theatrical façade) |
| TWEETIE | Feeling... you haven't got any feeling... you need feeling to improvise... |
| (intense and assertive) |
| CLEF | Who knows what you mean by feeling? |
| (casual offhand thoughtless) |
| TWEETIE | Oh you're just as bad... you and your cables and amplifiers and watts and things... you couldn't have a good feel if you wanted to. |
| (surprised and a wee bit hurt) |
| CLEF | What?... I thought I'd been on the right track... |
| TWEETIE | Well you might just have to think again mightn't you... |
| CLEF | I only meant that I didn't know what you meant by the word "feeling"... I didn't mean you didn't have feelings... |
| (trying to repair the puncture) |
| TWEETIE | What a weasel... see any sort of a crack and you think you can get thru... you're not getting off that easily... |
| PONDO refills CLEF'S glass. |
| PONDO | Here...Mr-Mustelid-Man... try some more of this... it might help you invent a better line of recovery... |
| (relishing his discomfort) |
| PONDO refills his own glass. |
| CLEF | I don't need to get off... (to PONDO)... I like her feelings... (to TWEETIE)... I like your feelings... |
| PONDO | Smooth your feathers penniforous one... here!... that didn't last long... let me top you up again... you may instruct us... |
| (to TWEETIE, cutting CLEF out) |
| TWEETIE | I think we should change instruments... |
| CLEF | Eh?...what?... |
| TWEETIE | I think we should change instruments.. |
| PONDO | Managerial Restructuring?...to facilitate feeling?... I would have thought that was fantasy land even for advertising agencies... |
| TWEETIE | Just for fun Pondo...fun?... you know the word?.. |
| PONDO | Forsooth I know the word m'lady... I am most familiar with the word... it's not a very big word to be sure... but oft have I been obliged to avail myself o'it... |
| CLEF | Who's supposed to swap what with what? |
| TWEETIE | Who cares?... you play Pondo's tuba... I'll fiddle with your knobs and things... and Pondo can have a go on my birdie... |
| PONDO | A tweet on the birdie eh?... We envisage no impediment to our capacity to elicit a modicum of skill on that piece of apparatus... |
| CLEF | My stuff is valuable... you can't just fool around with it... |
| TWEETIE | I didn't say I wanted to "fool around" with it... |
| CLEF | You don't even know where it switches on... |
| TWEETIE | I don't need to know... it's on already... |
| PONDO | That concatenation of wattage must tolerate some interrogation of its personality... surely... |
| (persuasively to CLEF) |
| CLEF | I won't work if the settings are changed... |
| (protectively apprehensive) |
| TWEETIE | Just show me which of your knobs make the sounds... |
| CLEF | All of my knobs make sounds. |
| TWEETIE | All of your knobs aren't wired up to this thing... |
| PONDO | Drink up then... let's do it... give me the bird... |
| CLEF | That museum-piece of brass junk runs on steam... where am I supposed to get that from?...it's all very well for boiler-man here... I've only got watts... |
| (still looking for excuses) |
| TWEETIE hands the bird-whistle and water supply over to PONDO, and then goes
over to the table of electronic gear. CLEF reluctantly drifts over to the tuba, and starts investigating strategies for manipulating it. PONDO loads the bird and then showers the contents over a wide range with a blast of compressed air. |
| PONDO | Bugger me... that should help keep the dust down... |
| TWEETIE twiddles a couple of knobs, there are a few electronic noises,
and then the solitary light bulb flickers and sputts. CLEF raises his eyes in an agony of disbelief. |
| TWEETIE | It's not my fault... don't you blame me... it's been like that all the time! |
| (aggressively defensive) |
| CLEF blows ineffectually thru the mouthpiece a couple of times, vaguely activating the valves in a hope that something might happen. |
| CLEF | How do you make this shit-load of tin do anything? |
| PONDO | Tension the labia my friend... pull back your buccinator... these... your trumpet muscles... (indicates).... pull a horizontal smile my man here... like this... then blow a raspberry...pbpbpbpb |
| CLEF follows the direction and to his obvious pleasure and surprise, a respectable musical note results... |
| PONDO | See my friend?... piece of piss... |
| (shrugging casually) |
| TWEETIE | Come on guys... can we do it?... just imagine some beautiful
cosmic other-worldly scene... creatures... colour... several distant suns in
the sky... it doesn't matter what you play... just play what you feel... and
feel what you play... and think fun... alright?... (she starts playing sounds on CLEF's gear) come on... just join in... |
| They initially just make a few random noises, but very quickly, a comic jazz-type conversation evolves, which briefly attempts to explore the nature of the universe, via coordinated noises and body language. |
| CLEF | Whoa... Time to chime!.. ten seconds to the Ten-to... Pondo... you and Tweetie change bells... |
| (looking at watch) |
| They scramble to the ropes. |
| CLEF | OK?... ready?... penultimate-cyclic-precursor -bong... (nods to TWEETIE)....go!!.. (when she has hers going he starts his).....now me..... (when he has his going as well he nods to PONDO).... you now Gravity-man..... |
| (looking at watch) |
| Their respective masses are now much more appropriately matched to the impedance of the bells, and they are able to keep the bells ringing in periodic rotation. | |
|
|
Their feet rise and fall in sequence as they adjust and vary their input to achieve a smooth sine-wave of output |
| CLEF | Time's up...Tweetie stop...(she arrests her bell)... now me... (he stops his)... Now Mr Big Bong man... (PONDO silences his)... brilliant... only the final one to go... we're still on track... |
| (watching watch) |
| There is another brief pause as CLEF moves back to his apparatus, PONDO hands back the bird-whistle to TWEETIE, and wanders over and inspects his tuba. He puts his tuba down and retrieves the remnants of the bottle of bubbly and his glass. |
THIRD MOVEMENT
| CLEF | Maybe that will wake them up... |
| PONDO | The polish on your naive optimism still retains its protective coating I see... |
| (pouring a glass) |
| TWEETIE | Don't worry about the local peasants... they were up and about before we were... its the committee-room managerial party-animals that will still be in their little dream worlds... |
| CLEF | Maybe...anyway... now for some decent music... |
| TWEETIE | We had to do your thing sooner or later I suppose... |
| CLEF | Everything happens by chance though doesn't it? |
| TWEETIE | Those erections of yours are just flukes then are they?... |
| (casually provocative) |
| PONDO | Softly now... rouse not my envy little sprite... (TWEETIE responds to PONDO with a coquettish glance) (looking at TWEETIE, raising his glass) It behooves us... to elicit beneficence... he embraces the stochastic... would it were... that that was all he embraced.... (addressing CLEF)come then comrade-mine... we will direct our attention to your preoccupation... we will aspire to thwart your aleatory dabblings... |
| (heart on his shirtsleves) |
| CLEF | No chance of that... fantasy-man.... I've created a completely objective system of improvising with probability... |
| (noting the interaction between PONDO and TWEETIE) |
| TWEETIE | Do you mind?... "objectivity" and "lottery" in the same sentence?... did you get a grant or something? |
| CLEF | Don't know what you're talking about... anyway, my first problem was to decide on how many degrees of freedom I should allow... |
| PONDO | Ah... you mean to what extent you needed to formalize the potentially undifferentated creative medium... |
| TWEETIE | Honestly Pondo... I've never had that problem... nobody does that sort of thing anymore... |
| (flirting a little with PONDO) |
| PONDO | Do they not?... adjust the register on thy degrees of freedom... and methinks I couldst undifferentiate with thee dear lady... |
| (quietly and directly) |
| TWEETIE | Pondo... using that sort of language is not a good idea...
neither of us know what you're talking about... (she looks sideways at CLEF to gauge a reaction) |
| (still looking at PONDO) |
| CLEF | ...anyway... what I decided for this morning, was to go for little packets of pitch, time and volume... and since this was supposed to be a sort of jam session... I put them in a jam jar...I just cut up a copy of some music exercises... there's crotchets and rests and sharps and quavers and dynamics... the lot... all chopped up and put into the jar... |
| (aware but not being drawn) |
| PONDO | The adventitious has me dumbfounded.. |
| TWEETIE | Why didn't you just get your computer to do it? |
| CLEF | Because... I though you might like to dance them into existence... |
| (looking at TWEETIE) |
| TWEETIE | How am I supposed to do that?... don't expect me to be serious.. |
| CLEF | Who said serious?... I never said serious... look... |
| He takes a roll of manuscript out of his pocket and a pack of drawing pins from another pocket. He crouches down. |
| CLEF | I'll just pin this to the floor under the light... like that... |
| He gets a glue-stick out of another pocket |
| CLEF | ...shove some glue on the lines... (looking directly at TWEETIE) ...and you can do the sprinkling-about stuff... |
| TWEETIE | Fabulous... a giggle at last... let's have the jar spider boy... |
| PONDO | What contribution am I expected to make to this rustic geoponic tripudium... |
| CLEF | ... Uni-pudium big man... solos-ville... the dancer does this one... you can be our quality control team... |
| (looking at PONDO) |
| TWEETIE undoes the screw-top lid of the jar and makes out to flip the lid towards PONDO. |
| TWEETIE | Here... hold this for me... |
| PONDO | My hands are full balletic one... |
| (still holding bottle and glass) |
| TWEETIE | Catch it in your teeth then... |
| She skims it towards PONDO, who makes a genuine and valiant attempt to actually catch the lid as if he was a dog trying to catch a flying frisbee. |
| PONDO | Damn... |
| TWEETIE | I'm just going to have to teach you more tricks Pondo... |
| PONDO | Humh... I'm too big to fit thru any of the hoops you've held up for me so far.. |
| CLEF | I should make a cryptic comment about your size and her hoops and things, but caution prevails (to TWEETIE) Come on....give us a dose of your choreography ... I'll line them all up when they land... |
| ( aside to PONDO) |
| TWEETIE takes the jar of musical elements, and improvises a little chaotic meteorological routine which involves sprinkling a few pieces of the creative confetti above the glue covered manuscript three of four times during the sequence. After each pass, CLEF fiddles and adjusts and pats and lines up the components. She dances literally for CLEF, but with several coquettish eye-contacts with PONDO, who does the commentary. |
| PONDO | The form... the line... the ethereal cirrus of continuity... the cumulus of frontal instability... the intermittent vortices of turbulence... all characterized the memorable interpretation of the very atmosphere of our existence... those of us who were privileged to be present at this most exquisite of performances... will long remember the other-worldly manner... by which we were seduced away from the realities of predetermined handicaps and constraints... and encouraged to believe for a while... in the impossible...ah...but soon enough... the gusting desires abate... and the scattered passing showers signify widespread stability... |
| (ad libbing) |
| CLEF | In your case...its spread over a very wide front... |
| (throwing another aside at PONDO) |
| TWEETIE finishes the last shower of musical quanta, and brings her performance to an end. She re-focuses all her attention on CLEF. |
| TWEETIE | That what you wanted sweetie?.. |
| CLEF stands, dusting off the manuscript of unattached elements. He gives her an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. |
| CLEF | Real excellent babe... look at that... that's real cut and paste... |
| He fold the manuscript horizontally in three, and tears it into three sections across the edge of his table. He then gives one to TWEETIE. |
| CLEF | Here's your one... Try this on your one man band... Tuba-Tube... |
| (to each in turn) |
| PONDO | I can read music... whatever's there... I'll play it... any relation to what's written, and what you play, would be open to question I would have thought... |
| (pointedly) |
| They get their respective instruments in hand |
| CLEF | We ready then? |
| TWEETIE | There's all these upy-downy notes and things...I can't do notes.... |
| CLEF | Neither you can...you'll just have to think them.... |
| TWEETIE | I can't think notes! |
| PONDO | We know that my dear... but we won't be able to tell... |
| CLEF | Come on then....ready?....OK....one.... two.... three....go... |
| They follow the random scores as best as they are able for several "bars". Then an absolutely precise phrase of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU" materializes out of the aural chaos. Very likely!!. |
| They pause and all do a slow burn uptake, and look at their score in disbelief. |
| CLEF | What a load of bullshit ....(looks at his watch)....whoops.... Time for the final-finale....come on...this is it! |
| (shaking head) |
| They scramble to take hold of their ropes. CLEF looking at his watch. |
| CLEF | ...eight...seven...six...four...five...one....two....three...ZERO! |
| The bells ring out in unison for several seconds. | |
|
|
| CLEF then leaves his rope, and goes over to a switch on the wall, and without any ceremony, turns it on. | The reflections off the unseen rotating flashing beacon mounted on the top of the bell-tower, immediately flash periodically across the rope-room. |
| The other two release their ropes and let the bells die away of their own accord. |
| CLEF | Well team...if they didn't hear the bells....maybe they will see the light... |
| (standing by the switch) |
| At that precise moment, the solitary light bulb in the centre of the room
blows and plunges the room into first light dawn darkness. The beacon reflection illuminates the room every few moments. TWEETIE walks over to the open window and looks out into the dawn sea and sky. |
| TWEETIE | Maybe they can't see or hear....maybe they only dance and feel... |
| PONDO | Maybe they only taste....anyone want breakfast?... |
| They freeze for a few moments until theatrical silence descends, and then they break the spell. |
| The lights come on, they pick up their instruments, come forward and bow to the audience. |
END
| © 2001 gramer |