Stoppard

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Stoppard : Utopia

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Albee

Lucas

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Tom Stoppard. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
[ http://direct.vtheatre.net/scenes.html ]

     Act One
     Two ELIZABETHANS passing time in a place without any visible character.
     They are well-dressed - hats, cloaks, sticks and all.
     Each of them has a large leather money bag.
     Guildenstern's bag is nearly empty.
     Rosencrantz's bag is nearly full.
     The  reason being:  they are betting  on the  toss  of a  coin,  in the
following manner: Guildenstern  (hereafter  'GUIL') takes a  coin out of his
bag,  spins it, letting  it fall. Rosencrantz (hereafter 'ROS')  studies it,
announces it as  "heads" (as it happens)  and puts it into his own bag. Then
they repeat the process. They have apparently been doing it for some time.
     The run of "heads" is impossible, yet ROS  betrays no surprise at all -
he  feels  none. However he is nice enough  to feel a little embarrassed  at
taking so much money off his friend. Let that be his character note.
     GUIL is well alive to  the oddity of it.  He is  not worried about  the
money, but he is worried by the implications ; aware but not going to  panic
about it - his character note.
     GUIL sits. ROS stands (he does the moving, retrieving coins).
     GUIL spins. ROS studies coin.

     ROS: Heads.
     (He picks it up and puts it in his money bag. The process is repeated.)
     Heads.
     (Again.)
     ROS: Heads.
     (Again.)
     Heads.
     (Again.)
     Heads.
     GUIL (flipping a coin): There is an art to the building up of suspense.
     ROS: Heads.
     GUIL (flipping another): Though it can be done by luck alone.
     ROS: Heads.
     GUIL: If that's the word I'm after.
     ROS (raises his head at GUIL): Seventy-six love.
     (GUIL  gets up but has nowhere  to go. He  spins another  coin over his
shoulder  without  looking  at  it,  his  attention being  directed  at  his
environment or lack of it.)
     Heads.
     GUIL: A  weaker  man  might  be  moved  to re-examine  his faith, if in
nothing else at least in the law of probability.
     (He slips a coin over his shoulder as he goes to look upstage.)
     ROS: Heads.
     (GUIL, examining the confines of the stage,  flips over two more coins,
as he does so, one by one of course. ROS announces each of them as "heads".)
     GUIL (musing): The law of probability,  as it  has been oddly asserted,
is  something  to do  with  the  proposition that  if  six  monkeys  (he has
surprised himself)... if six monkeys were...
     ROS: Game?
     GUIL: Were they?
     ROS: Are you?
     GUIL (understanding): Games.  (Flips a coin.) The law of averages, if I
have got this right, means that if six monkeys were thrown up in the air for
long enough they would land on their tails about as often as they would land
on their -
     ROS: Heads. (He picks up the coin.)
     GUIL: Which at  first  glance  does  not  strike one  as a particularly
rewarding speculation, in either sense, even without the monkeys. I mean you
wouldn't  bet  on it.  I  mean  I would, but you wouldn't... (As  he flips a
coin.)
     ROS: Heads.
     GUIL: Would you? (Flips a coin.)
     ROS: Heads.
     (Repeat.)
     Heads. (He looks up at  GUIL - embarrassed laugh.) Getting  a bit of  a
bore, isn't it?
     GUIL (coldly): A bore?
     ROS: Well...
     GUIL: What about suspense?
     ROS (innocently): What suspense?
     (Small pause.)
     GUIL:  It must be the law of  diminishing returns... I  feel the  spell
about to be broken. (Energising himself somewhat.)
     (He takes out a  coin, spins  it high,  catches it, turns it over on to
the back  of  his other hand, studies the coin - and  tosses it  to ROS. His
energy deflates and he sits.)
     Well, it was a even chance... if my calculations are correct.
     ROS: Eighty-five in a row - beaten the record!
     GUIL: Don't be absurd.
     ROS: Easily!
     GUIL (angry): Is the it, then? Is that all?
     ROS: What?
     GUIL: A new record? Is that as far as you prepared to go?
     ROS: Well...
     GUIL: No questions? Not even a pause?
     ROS: You spun it yourself.
     GUIL: Not a flicker of doubt?
     ROS (aggrieved, aggressive): Well, I won - didn't I?
     GUIL (approaches him - quieter): And if you'd lost? If they'd come down
against you, eighty -five times, one after another, just like that?
     ROS (dumbly): Eighty-five in a row? Tails?
     GUIL: Yes! What would you think?
     ROS  (doubtfully):  Well... (Jocularly.) Well, I'd have a  good look at
your coins for a start!
     GUIL  (retiring):  I'm  relieved.  At  least  we  can  still  count  on
self-interest as a predictable factor... I suppose it's the last to go. Your
capacity for trust made me wonder if perhaps... you, alone...
     (He turns on him suddenly, reaches out a hand.) Touch.
     (ROS claps his hand. GUIL pulls him up to him.)
     (More  intensely): We  have  been spinning coins together  since  - (He
releases him almost as violently.) This is not the first time we spun coins!
     ROS: Oh no - we've been spinning coins for as long as I remember.
     GUIL: How long is that?
     ROS: I forget. Mind you - eighty-five times!
     GUIL: Yes?
     ROS: It'll take some time beating, I imagine.
     GUIL: Is that what you imagine? Is that it? No fear?
     ROS: Fear?
     GUIL  (in fury -  flings  a coin on the  ground): Fear! The crack  that
might flood your brain with light!
     ROS: Heads... (He puts it in his bag.)
     (GUIL sits  despondently.  He takes  a  coin,  spins  it, lets  it fall
between his feet. He looks at it, picks it up; throws it to ROS, who puts it
in his bag.)
     (GUIL takes another coin, spins it, catches it, turns it over on to his
other hand, looks at it, and throws it to ROS who puts it in his bag.)
     (GUIL tales a third coin, spins it, catches it in his right hand, turns
it over on to his loft wrist, lobs it in the air, catches  it  with his left
hand, raises his left leg, throws the coin up under it, catches it and turns
it over on  to the top of his head, where  it sits. ROS comes, looks  at it,
puts it in his bag.)
     ROS: I'm afraid -
     GUIL: So am I.
     ROS: I'm afraid it isn't your day.
     GUIL: I'm afraid it is.
     (Small pause.)
     ROS: Eighty-nine.
     GUIL: It must be indicative of something, besides the redistribution of
wealth. (He  muses.) List  of  possible explanations. One:  I'm willing  it.
Inside where nothing shows,  I'm the essence of a man spinning double-headed
coins, and betting against himself in private  atonement for an unremembered
past. (He spins a coin at ROS.)
     ROS: Heads.
     GUIL:  Two: time has stopped  dead, and a single experience of one coin
being spun once has been repeated ninety times... (He flips a coin, looks at
it, tosses it to ROS.)  On the whole,  doubtful. Three: divine intervention,
that is  to say,  a good turn from above  concerning  him, cf.  children  of
Israel, or retribution from  above  concerning me, cf.  Lot's wife.  Four: a
spectacular  vindication of  the  principle  that each individual  coin spun
individually  (he spins one)  is as likely to come down  heads  as tails and
therefore should cause no surprise that each  individual  time it  does. (It
does. He tosses it to ROS.)
     ROS: I've never known anything like it!
     GUIL: And syllogism: One, he has never known anything like  it. Two: he
has never known anything  to write home about. Three, it's  nothing to write
home about... Home... What's the first thing you remember?
     ROS: Oh, let's see...The first thing that comes into my head, you mean?
     GUIL: No - the first thing you remember.
     ROS: Ah. (Pause.) No, it's no good, it's gone. It was a long time ago.
     GUIL (patient but edged): You don't  get my meaning.  What is the first
thing after all the things you've forgotten?
     ROS: Oh. I see. (Pause.) I've forgotten the question.
     GUIL: How long have you suffered from a bad memory?
     ROS: I can't remember.
     (GUIL paces.)
     GUIL: Are you happy?
     ROS: What?
     GUIL: Content? At ease?
     ROS: I suppose so.
     GUIL: What are you going to do now?
     ROS: I don't know. What do you want to do?
     GUIL: I  have no  desires. None. (He  stops pacing  dead.)  There was a
messenger... that's right.  We  were  sent for.  (He  wheels at ROS and raps
out.) Syllogism  the  second: one: probability  is  a factor which  operates
within natural forces. Two, probability is not operating as a factor. Three,
we  are  now within  un-,  sub-  or  supernatural forces.  Discuss.  (ROS is
suitably startled - Acidly.) Not too heatedly.
     ROS: I'm sorry, I - What's the matter with you?
     GUIL: A  scientific  approach  to the examination  of  phenomena  is  a
defence against the pure emotion of fear. Keep tight hold and continue while
there's time. Now - counter to the previous syllogism: tricky one, follow me
carefully, it may prove a  comfort. If we postulate, and we just  have, that
within un-, sub- or supernatural forces  the probability is  that the law of
probability will  not operate  as  a factor, then we  must accept  that  the
probability  of the first  part will not operate as a factor,  in which case
the  law  of  probability will  operate as  a factor  within  un-,  sub-  or
supernatural forces. And  since  it obviously hasn't  been doing so, we  can
take  it  that we are not held within un-, sub- or supernatural forces after
all; in all probability, that is.  Which is a great relief to me personally.
(Small  pause.)  Which  is all very well, except that -  (He continues  with
tight hysteria, under control.) We have been spinning coins together since I
don't  know  when, and  in all that time (if it  is  all that time)  I don't
suppose  either of  us was  more than a  couple of gold pieces up or down. I
hope  that  doesn't sound surprising because  it's  very unsurprisingness is
something I am  trying  to  keep  hold of.  The  equanimity of your  average
pitcher and tosser of coins depends upon a law, or rather a tendency, or let
us say a  probability, or at  any rate  a mathematically  calculable chance,
which ensures  that he will  not upset himself by losing too much  nor upset
his opponent by winning too often. This made  for a kind  of  harmony and  a
kind of confidence. It related the fortuitous and ordained into a reassuring
union which  we  recognised as nature. The  sun came up about as often as it
went  down, in  the long run, and a  coin showed heads about as  often as it
showed  tails. Then  a messenger arrived. We had been sent for. Nothing else
happened. Ninety-two coins sun consecutively have come down heads ninety-two
consecutive  times...  and  for  the last three  minutes on the  wind  of  a
windless day I have heard the sound of drums and flute...
     ROS (cutting his fingernails): Another curious scientific phenomenon is
the fact that the fingernails grow after death, as does the beard.
     GUIL: What?
     ROS (loud): Beard!
     GUIL: But you're not dead.
     ROS (irritated): I didn't say they started to grow after death! (Pause,
calmer.) The fingernails also grow before birth, though not the beard.
     GUIL: What?
     ROS  (shouts): Beard! What's  the matter  with you? (Reflectively.) The
toenails, on the other hand, never grow at all.
     GUIL (bemused): The toenails never grow at all?
     ROS: Do they? It's a funny  thing - I cut my fingernails all the  time,
and every time I  think to cut them,  they need cutting. Now, for  instance.
And yet, I never, to the best of my knowledge, cut my  toenails. They  ought
to  be  curled under my feet by now, but  it doesn't  happen.  I never think
about  them.  Perhaps  I cut  them  absent-mindedly,  when  I'm  thinking of
something else.
     GUIL (tensed up by this rambling): Do you remember the first thing that
happen today?
     ROS (promptly): I woke up, I suppose. (Triggered.) Oh - I've got it now
- that man, a foreigner, he woke us up -
     GUIL: A messenger. (He relaxes, sits.)
     ROS: That's it - pale  sky before dawn, a man standing on his saddle to
bang on the shutters - shouts - What's all  the row about?! Clear off! - but
then he called our names. You remember that - this man woke us up.
     GUIL: Yes.
     ROS: We were sent for.
     GUIL: Yes.
     ROS: That's  why we're here. (He looks round, seems doubtful, then  the
explanation.) Travelling.
     GUIL: Yes.
     ROS (dramatically):  It was  urgent -  a  matter of extreme urgency,  a
royal summons, his very words: official business and  no  questions  asked -
lights in the stable-yard; saddle up and off headlong and hotfoot across the
land, our guides outstripped in breakneck pursuit of our duty! Fearful  lest
we come too late.
     (Small pause.)
     GUIL: Too late for what?
     ROS: How do I know? We haven't got there yet.
     GUIL: Then what are we doing here, I ask myself.
     ROS: You might well ask.
     GUIL: We better get on.
     ROS: You might well think.
     GUIL: Without much conviction; we better get on.
     ROS (actively): Right! (Pause.) On where?
     GUIL: Forward.
     ROS  (forward to footlights): Ah. (Hesitates.) Which way  do  we  - (He
turns round.) Which way did we - ?
     GUIL: Practically starting from scratch... An awakening, a man standing
on his  saddle to bang on the shutters, our names shouted in a certain dawn,
a message, a summons... A new record for pitch and toss. We have not  been..
picked out... simply to be abandoned...  set loose to find our own way... We
are entitled to some direction... I would have thought.
     ROS (alert, listening): I say - ! I say -
     (GUIL rises himself.)
     GUIL: Yes?
     ROS:  Like  a band.  (He looks  around, laughs embarrassedly, expiating
himself.) It sounded like - a band. Drums.
     GUIL: Yes.
     ROS (relaxes): It couldn't have been real.
     GUIL: "The colours red, blue and green are real. The colour yellow is a
mystical experience shared by everybody" - demolish.
     ROS (at edge of stage): It must have been thunder. Like drums...
     (By the end of the next speech, the band is faintly audible.)
     GUIL:  A man  breaking his journey between  one place and  another at a
third  place  of  no  name, character,  population  or significance,  sees a
unicorn cross his path and disappear. That in itself is startling, but there
are precedents  for  mystical encounters  of various kinds,  or  to be  less
extreme, a choice of persuasions to  put it down to fancy; until - "My God,"
says the  second man, "I must  be dreaming,  I thought  I saw a unicorn." At
which point, a dimension is added that makes the experience  as alarming  as
it will ever be. A third  witness, you understand, adds no further dimension
but  only  spreads it thinner, and  a  fourth thinner  still,  and  the more
witnesses  there are, the thinner it gets and the more reasonable it becomes
until it is as thin as reality, the name we give to the common experience...
"Look, look" recites  the crowd. "A horse with an arrow in its forehead!  It
must have been mistaken for a deer."
     ROS (eagerly): I knew all along it was a band.
     GUIL (tiredly): He knew all along it was a band.
     ROS: Here they come!
     GUIL  (at the last moment before they enter - wistfully):  I'm sorry it
wasn't the unicorn. It would have been nice to have unicorns.
     (The  TRAGEDIANS are  six in number, including a small BOY(ALFRED).