Play Time

Sheila is posting on the difficulty of playing Anton Checkov. I'm afraid (he said, turning red in the face) that I am completely ignorant of the matter myself, having never read nor seen a Checkov play, but I know Mom won't want to miss this.

Actually, I take that back. I did hear a production of The Cherry Orchard. As I recall, it began something like this:

Announcer: Gumby Theatre comes live tonight from the Evon Gumby Theatre near Guildford. L. D. Gumby, M. J. Gumby and R.S. Gumby star in The Cherry Orchard by Anton Chekov. The action takes place near Moscow in the 1870's.

Gumbies: (Bird song, knock knock)
COME IN!
(Crash)
NO, OPEN THE DOOR AND COME IN!
SORRY!
HELLO!
SORRY!
SHUT UP!
I GOT MY HEAD STUCK IN THE CUPBOARD
SORRY!
SHUT UP!
I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING
HELLO!
(Smash)
I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING
HELLO!
SHUT UP, MR. GUMBY
(Smash)
UHH, MY BRAIN HURTS
SHUT UP!
SORRY!
OOOHH!
(Smash)

Announcer: Meanwhile in St. Petersburg Ylia Natajevska and Mariana Plajenkov await news of their stepbrother Trofimov.

Gumbies: HELLO
(Crash)
UH, OPEN IT
I OPENED IT
GET OFF MY FOOT
SHUT UP!
SORRY!
MY BRAIN HURTS
MY BRAIN HURTS
(Closing music)

Announcer: That was The Cherry Orchard by Anton Chekov, adapted for radio by putting it onto a piece of wood and banging a few nails through it. Mr. L. N. Gumby is now appearing in the Thames near Woking Steps. And Mr. D. P. Gumby is appearing as a central tunnel support on the new Victoria Line.

I know, I know. I can be awfully juvenile sometimes. But it's a glorious Friday here in Dee Cee, the Missus and the Llama-ettes were lounging about the house this morning in full school's-out relaxation mode and I'm just plain feeling silly.

Meanwhile, Terry Teachout has a teaser review of a new production of Somerset Maugham's The Constant Wife that includes this summation that I find particularly amusing for some reason:

Imagine Henrik Ibsen rewritten by Oscar Wilde and you'll get some idea of what “The Constant Wife” sounds like….

Heh. I do know something about Ibsen. One of my favorite courses in college was a semester of Ibsen and Shaw. Just when ol' Henrik had you about convinced that the only thing left to do was to toddle out to the barn and hang yourself, G.B.S. came sailing in to leave you in absolute stitches. In her post, Sheila talks about the challenge for actors of getting Checkov right. George Bernard is a completely different kettle of fish. Now there's a man whose plays are damn near actor-proof: get the words out somehow and they'll do the rest all by themselves, thank you very much.

Right. Well I seem to have wandered a bit. But since this post has already got some Shaw, Wilde and Python in it, why don't we close it up with another classic:

London 1895... The residence of Mr Oscar Wilde

(In WILDE's drawing room. A crowd of suitably dressed folk are engaged in typically brilliant conversation, laughing affectedly and drinking champagne)

PRINCE OF WALES: My congratulations, Wilde. You latest play is a great success. The whole of London's talking about you.
OSCAR: There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that it not being talked about.
(There follows fifteen seconds of restrained and sycophantic laughter)
PRINCE: Very very witty... very very witty.
WHISTLER: There's only one thing in the world worse than being witty and that is not being witty.
(Fifteen seconds more of the same)
OSCAR: I wish I had said that.
Whistler: You will, Oscar, you will.
(More laughter)
OSCAR: Your majesty, have you met James McNeill Whistler?
PRINCE: Yes, we've played squash together.
OSCAR: There is only one thing worse than playing squash together, and that is playing it by yourself.
(Silence)
I wish I hadn't said that.
WHISTLER: You did, Oscar, you did.
(A little laughter)
PRINCE: I've got to get back up the palace.
OSCAR: Your Majesty is like a big jam doughnut with cream on the top.
PRINCE: I beg your pardon?
OSCAR: Um... it was one of Whistler's.
WHISTLER: I never said that.
OSCAR: You did, James, you did.
(The PRINCE OF WALES stares expectantly at WHISTLER)
WHISTLER: ... Well, You Highness, what I meant was that, like a doughnut, um, your arrival gives us pleasure... and your departure only makes us hungry for more.
(Laughter)
Your Highness, you are also like a stream of bat's piss.
PRINCE: What?!?
WHISTLER: It was one of Wilde's. One of Wilde's.
OSCAR: It sodding was not! It was Shaw!
SHAW: I... I merely meant, Your Majesty, that you shine out like a shaft of gold when all around is dark.
PRINCE (accepting the compliment): Oh.
OSCAR (To WHISTLER): Right.
(To PRINCE)Your majesty is like a dose of clap. Before you arrive is pleasure, and after is a pain in the dong.
PRINCE (Loudly): WHAT?
WHISTLER and OSCAR: One of Shaw's, one of Shaw's.
SHAW: You bastards. Um... what I meant, Your Majesty, what I meant...
OSCAR: We've got him, Jim.
WHISTLER and OSCAR: Come on, Shaw-y.
SHAW: I merely meant...
OSCAR: Come on, Shaw-y.
WHISTLER: Let's have a bit of wit, then, man.
SHAW: (Blows raspberry)
(The PRINCE shakes SHAW's hand. Laughter all around)

Posted by Robert at June 17, 2005 09:46 AM