Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallenge In these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens? Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions. Larissa Brigatti Ho(m)e Sitting on ropes that cross the entire stage, still. Na : fully covered in black except face Ly: fully covered in grey except face Za:covered in dirt except face Za: So, it has begun? Na: Yes. Ly: We knew it beforehand. Za: And it is coming.. Na: Yes. Ly: It has come, see-- Za: Yes, it has. Na: Ly, (silence) Ly, have you not heard me calling? Ly: Scusa? Na: (stands up and leaves the rope, lies on the floor). Za: Ly? (Pause) Ly: Yes. Za: Did you notice that Na is not functioning anymore? Ly: If you describes like that.. Za: What if Na was-- Ly: This is not allowed to be said. Za: Oh. Ly: Yes. (Silence) Za: Ly? Ly: Yes. Za: I wouldn’t be able to stand even if I could Ly: Would you not? Za: I guess not. Ly: Should we give it a try and act as normal? Za: I guess so… Ly: (Stands up, fierce breath, falls on top of Na) Za: Is it so hard to stay on the ropes? (Silence) I guess so. (Pause. Moves left hand slowly and places beside Za’s body. Breathes) But I can’t sustain this body. How would I sustain this body? With a third-- (Na makes a sound) Za: (Without looking down to keep the balance) Is that Na or Ly? Na: Na. Za: Oh. Haven’t heard of you in a while Na: Tell me more Za: So you survived Na: So far Za: Oh-- Na: There still———ho—pe Za: I guess Na: Do you not agree? Za: (silence) Na: I said: Do you not agree? Za: I guess… Na: There you go Za: I guess we are under different ropes right now… Na: What? Za: I said we are under different ropes… under… different circumstances. Na: So? Everybody is under different ropes, we only share the knots. Ly: (makes a sound) Za: Is that still Na or Ly? Ly: (silence) Na: (kicks Ly) Ly: I am here. Na: we noticed that. Za: So you survived Ly: Couldn’t say the least Za: Oh. Na: well-- Za: even you couldn’t-- Ly: we’re still trying Za: I see… (Pause) Na: You should stand Za, accept the falls and one day we will rise again. Ly: you may rise slowly or with light’s speed we won’t mind. Na: Ly Ly: What? Na: Nothing. (Silence, lights only on Za) Za: For I had hoped something different. If this body falls there will be no chance to come back up here. There is nothing left for this body but— what is invisible to the eyes. Where would this body go once it falls? Around the barricades in the dark. I overheard. Will this body shine a light on the sea of skeletons astray… They are all together now, but this body, this body stays in between the balance of days and nights. After all of this… we still are not the same, for ‘the sameness’ is unapproachable. I shall then stay here waiting for the waves——-- Voices in the dark This will make us stay together, but separate This will make us stay together This will make us be together again All the bodies in this place, together at last Za: Is this a body? In response to: Larissa Brigatti is a final year Drama student at Trinity College and interested in directing, performing and writing (journalistic and creative). She is the theatre editor for Tn2 magazine and have been writing for Tn2 since 2017. She has mainly worked as assistant director for Jimmy Murphy (The Seamster’s Daughter), Patrick Sutton (Waiting for Godot), Maud Hendricks—with whom she still works with as part of OT Platform, WoW Project. She is passionate about languages and cultural studies, she studied Spanish as TSM with Drama for 2 and half years but she is finishing the course as Single Honors.
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Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallenge In these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens? Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions. Stay Awhile by Ann Sheehy
(Lights up on Room 220 at Our Lady’s Hospice. Maurice is sitting in a chair next to his hospital bed, looking through binoculars out the window. Julie has just arrived and is disinfecting her hands by the sink.) Maurice: I do believe I see a thrush! Lovely song this time of year. (He regards Julie.) Julie. How is my Sally? Julie: She sends her love, as usual. Maurice: She is the love of my life. Do you think they will let her visit? Julie: Maybe. In a couple of weeks, Maurice, that would probably be best. Maurice: A couple of weeks. Julie: You feeling ok? The pain managed? Maurice: Yes, yes, pretty much so. Julie: (Holding up a bag.) I got those yogurts you like – I’ll put them in the fridge. And look what I found – a dark mint chocolate Easter Egg! Maurice: But it’s not Easter. Julie: Well I didn’t want to chance it… that they’d run out of your favourite. Oh jeez, you still like chocolate, don’t you? Maurice: Sure, sure. You got any of those banana muffins in that bag? Julie: Absolutely. Julie and Maurice: No nuts!! Maurice: It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s my damned teeth! Why don’t you take off your coat, stay for a while. Tell me about Sally, does she miss me? Julie: (Stays standing on the opposite side of the bed.) Well, she really is something else – so beautiful and of course she misses you. Maurice: Are you brushing her hair every day? Julie: Yes, yes, a hundred strokes. We go out three times a day. This morning we went to the park and she rolled in a worm. Maurice: Cheeky girl. Sure she loves a good roll. My sweet Sally. Oh, I wish you would bring her – say she’s my therapy dog … something. How’s she getting along with Clarice? Julie: I found them snuggled up together on the bed. Maurice: No! Julie: Companionship. They miss you, Maurice, but they are being well looked after, I promise. Everyone on the road asks for you and send their love. Winnie still wants that cup of tea. Maurice: I know. I know. I think they must be short-staffed, my breakfast and shower were later than usual and it is past twelve and they haven’t served lunch. Julie: Well then, how about that muffin? Then I will have to go. Maurice: Julie… They told me this morning… Julie: I know. You know I will come see you as soon as I can. Maurice: Yes. Thank you, Julie, thank you for all of it. (Lights fade.) Ann Sheehy is a once and future actor, also a mother, currently teaching Pilates and other body-awareness classes. She took Fishamble's Intensive Weekend Playwriting course last year and has been working on that among other things creative. She is on Facebook as ann.sheehy.58. Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallenge In these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens? Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions. Homing
By Julia Marks This is intended for six actors--3 male, 3 female. Each line of text indicates a separate line of dialogue. Indented lines are individual thoughts, and un-indented lines are collective thoughts. Lines can be divided as you like between the actors. I. The danger brought the children home. We came crawling back from our separate cities, Heads held high as we reported on The commute to work The weather getting warmer How we’ve been eating oatmeal all week We shelter in the only bar still open in our little town-- Members only, but a fiver for lifetime entry. One of us, we don’t remember who, Paid the fee last year. The bouncer--self-titled--knows us all from school anyway, He remembers, Even if we do not, He’s been here all this time while we left. We pretend to recognize him, For his sake and ours, And after all, We’re back here now, too. Gathered, We point to names we recognize, Landmarks, carved into the table. The streets, out the window, are empty, Even though the streetlights have just come on. They’ve gotten new covers. We’re young enough, still, to have jobs with titles-- Reporter Musician Rocket Scientist But old enough to be thinking of transitioning to something new, Because the management is shit, And we’re starting to think about benefits. (we don’t mention that we can barely afford next month’s rent/ that our job doesn’t offer salary/ that we can’t imagine the luxury of a Kitchen Aid mixer/ and we might not even be sure we want that) Safety in numbers, we press closer together in our booth As more of us return. II. My childhood crush is here, stupid boy, who turned out to be hated by everyone but me My grade-school science partner avoids me as much as I avoid him The girl in the corner has a child at home, what is he, six now? What is she doing alone and drunk by the bathrooms? We take turns with our stories: I remember when we were eight, you let your dog pull your scooter and you fell and broke your arm. I remember when we were fourteen and you jumped out the window of our classroom. I remember when you got so drunk at graduation that you fainted in the sun. When the barman kicks us out, I stop to buy overpriced cigarettes from the vending machine. We spill out into the streets, Still empty. We don’t remember why we’re there, Or gotten too drunk to care. We’ve forgotten why we ever wanted this to end. We know there have never been any cabs here, So we walk, Like we always did, I never noticed that she grew curves. I never heard that he’d been arrested freshman year. In our shifting patterns that can’t be formulated, I wasn’t there when he came out to his parents and they told him to leave. in the road because we know no cars are coming. I never knew that she liked [ Band name] too, And maybe if I’d know we would’ve stayed in touch. As the night sets in, we realize we can see the stars. And you can’t see the stars in my city like this And we realize We thought we might never live in a place where you can always see the stars again And the danger sets in Because we have come home. I bought the cigarettes for myself but I pass them around We’ve all long since abandoned our smoking habits But the ritual comes back to us the same, And here we are. (We don’t admit to anyone but ourselves that we should’ve been more careful with that word) “home.” It’s hard to admit we are happier here. Our town is still singing the same songs. We sit. We smoke. We listen. We are learning to sing with it. Julia Marks is an actor and theatre-maker originally from South Carolina. She graduated from the Gaiety School of Acting in 2019, and previously received a BA in Theatre from the College of Charleston. She is a founding member of iii States Collective, a producing company focused on challenging theatrical form and expectations. They recently staged their first original work, Cove Creek Boys and Summer Girls, at the Scene and Heard Festival 2020, which was her professional writing and acting debut. You can find her on Instagram at @iiistates or @theconfessionrooms. |