All in the timing six one

All in the timing: six one-act comedies. Essay (No response. She sees the blackboard, reads:) He. She. It. Arf. (She notices the numbers around the walls, and reads:) Wenyufrefalfyndiffhevenwaitz. (Noticing the empty chairs, she practices her greeting, as if there were people sitting in them) Hello, my name is Dawn. Its very nice to meet you. How do you do, my name is Dawn. A pleasure to meet you. Hello. My name is Dawn. The door at left opens and Don appears. DON: Velcro! DAWN: Excuse me? About the Playwright David Ives was born in Chicago and educated at Northwestern University and Yale School of Drama. Besides the plays included in All in the Timing, he has written, among other things: Lives and Deaths of the Great Harry Houdini (Williamstown Theatre Festival, 1983); Seven Menus and Foreplay, or the Art of the Fugue (Manhattan Punch Line Theatre, 1989 and 1991); Mere Mortals and Long Ago and Far Away (Ensemble Studio Theatre, 1990 and 1993); The Secret Garden (Pennsylvania Opera Theatre, 1991); and Ancient History (Primary Stages, 1989). The Red Address, which premiered at Magic Theatre in San Francisco in 1991, was circulated as part of TCGs Plays in Process series. Ives has written for television and Hollywood, and teaches at New York University. About the Play The premiere production of All in the Timing opened at Primary Stages in New York City on December 1, 1993, under the direction of Jason McConnell Buzas, and moved to the John Houseman theatre in March. Five of the six one-acts composing All in the Timing had been previously produced: Manhattan Punch Line Theatre first presented Sure Thing; Words, Words, Words; Philip Glass Buys a Loaf of Bread and Variations on the Death of Trotsky; The Philadelphia premiered at the 1992 New Hope Performing Arts Festival in New Hope, Pennsylvania. The Universal Language, which premiered with this production of All in the Timing, will be included in Best American Short Plays: 1993-1994, to be published by Applause Books in September. No Comparisons An interview with the playwright by Stephanie Coen David Ives and I met in a New York restaurant not unlike the cafe where Bill and Betty work out their future in Sure Thing, the first play in this collection. Our conversation initially seemed like a parody of his signature piece; a bell didnt ring, but the 43-year-old author called for the check anytime he wanted to change the subject. Ives has been writing for more than 20 years: plays, screenplays, an opera, fiction and journalism. He describes his early, full-length works as terrible plays that nobody even knows about anymore, but the short comedies collected here have sent critics to their thesauri for variations on the word hilarious. When the New Criterion reviewed All in the Timing, the reviewer used words like Ivesian and Ivesland. How would you define Ivesland? Oh my God. Whats your next question? Im not equipped to answer that. Ive been reading all these reviews and critiques of my work, and being wonderfully enlightened about what these plays are actually about. I thought they were just harmless little skits, and here they are saying Ivesland and Ivesian. For me to consider what these plays are about would probably cripple me irredeemably in trying to write any more of them. You have to write innocently, up to a certain point. What does Ivesland mean to you? Well, for one thing, the ordinary seems fantastical and the fantastical somehow seems ordinary. Ive never known the difference between those two things. I dont honestly try to be fantastical. I dont honestly try to be anything. I write these things so that someone will write the sort of play that Id like to go and see. Too much in theatre to me is literal and boring and unimaginative and untheatrical. My own interest in going to the theatre sort of slackened off when I finally started writing plays that I liked. I think Ivesland is also a place where, if people try hard enough, or simply stick around long enough, they can get things right. Are you as much of a romantic as your plays? Ive heard that word bandied about me, and I want to stop this rumor immediately. I am a dark, troubled, angst-ridden, misanthropic writer about the dark side of the human condition. Am I a romantic? Seeing all of these plays together surprised me. The one thing that I learned was how weirdly optimistic they are. Something that audiences must find so appealing about them is that people overcome the most insuperable difficulties in these plays: Trying to write Hamlet when you dont know what Hamlet is, or learning a language that youre creating as you go along, or living with a mountain climbers axe in your head for 36 hours. I dont know if romantic is the word. But a lot of guys do end up getting the girl, and vice versa, so there must be something there. There is, in all of your work, a sense of possibility. Do you think thats true of theatre as an art form? I think of theatre as an arena for communal empathy. To write for the theatre, you have to have a kind of imaginative empathy for people in order to understand how and what they feel. You then bring that to an audience. The audience has to empathize with what youre saying, and the actors have to empathize with what youve written, and all the people who put a production together have to empathize with each other for the space of four or eight weeks. I think of theatre as this great civilizing arena where people find a common ground. Its where, in one way or another, we realize that were in the same leaky boat, and we realize it in person. Youve been compared to Beckett, Ionesco, Pinter, Stoppard. In a not-unimaginable Ivesian situation, what would you say to them? What could I possibly say to themlittle did you know you were like me. Do you mean, what would I say to them about their plays? Anything. Lets say youre in a room, and in walks Beckett. Id tell him, Youre dead, Sam, go home. Then Id say, Oh, by the way, lighten up. Im abjectly grateful to these people for writing the good plays they have, but I dont really see the justice of the comparison. I dont know why people say Harold Pinter. And Samuel Beckett? Three monkeys typing in a room trying to write Hamletdoes that sound like something Beckett would write? Maybe Im just resisting being compared to anybody. I dont take these plays as seriously as these reviewers have. Im just trying to make good jokes. What would you do if you werent a playwright? At last, an easy question. Id not be a playwright. Wittgenstein would approve of that answer. What would I do? Id spend all my time in museums looking at paintings. Much more fun than being a playwright. To me the theatre is about necessity, and painting is somehow or other, in a way that I cant define, about freedom. I think that my resistance to Beckett, Pinter, Ionesco, Stoppard, that nonsenseI think that resistance actually comes because I dont think that Im influenced by those people, even though I somehow seem to be like them. The effect that I want these plays to have isnt a theatrical effect; its about painting and music. The best theatre Ive seen in years was the Lucian Freud exhibit. Is there anything you want to ask me? Are you paying for this meal? ALL IN THE TIMING SURE THING The Characters Sure Thing Bill: late 20s Betty: late 20s Words, Words, Words Milton: a boy monkey Swift: a boy monkey Kafka: a girl monkey The Universal Language Dawn: late 20s; plainly dressed, very shy, with a stutter Don: about 30; charming and smooth; glasses Young Man: as you will Philip Glass Buys a Loaf of Bread Philip Glass: the composer; intensely serious Baker: genial and large First Woman: a vivacious friend Second Woman: beautiful and mysterious The Philadelphia Al: 20s or 30s; California cool Mark: 20s or 30s; frazzled Waitress: 20s or 30s; weary Variations on the Death of Trotsky Trotsky: the great revolutionary in full flourish; bushy hair and goatee; small glasses; dark heavy suit and black string tie Mrs. Trotsky: grandmotherly and sweet; ankle-length dress, high-button shoes and shawl Ramon: young and handsome; sombrero, serape, huaraches and guitar Playwrights Note Essentially Philip Glass Buys a Loaf of Bread is a musical number in three sections which are demarcated by the ringing of a bell. The brief first and third sections are spoken, while the longer middle section is to be recited in Philip Glass-like rhythms. (Glasss Einstein on the Beach provides a fair model of such rhythms.) Different performers and directors may create different rhythms (and jokes), but a score of the original music is available for a token fee from the authors agent. A cafe table, with a couple of chairs. Betty is reading at the table. An empty chair opposite her. Bill enters. BILL: Excuse me. Is this chair taken? BETTY: Excuse me? BILL: Is this taken? BETTY: Yes it is. BILL: Oh. Sorry. BETTY: Sure thing. A bell rings softly. BILL: Excuse me. Is this chair taken? BETTY: Excuse me? BILL: Is this taken? BETTY: No, but Im expecting somebody in a minute. BILL: Oh. Thanks anyway. BETTY: Sure thing. A bell rings softly. BILL: Excuse me. Is this chair taken? BETTY: No, but Im expecting somebody very shortly. BILL: Would you mind if I sit here till he or she or it comes? BETTY: (Glances at her watch): They do seem to be pretty late BILL: You never know who you might be turning down. BETTY: Sorry. Nice try, though. BILL: Sure thing. (Bell) Is this seat taken? BETTY: No its not. BILL: Would you mind if I sit here? BETTY: Yes I would. BILL: Oh. (Bell) Is this chair taken? BETTY: No its not. BILL: Would you mind if I sit here? BETTY: No. Go ahead. BILL: Thanks. He sits. She continues reading. BILL: Every place else seems to be taken. BETTY: Mm-hm. BILL: Great place. BETTY: Mm-hm. BILL: Whats the book? BETTY: I just wanted to read in quiet, if you dont mind. BILL: No. Sure thing. (Bell) Every place else seems to be taken. BETTY: Mm-hm. BILL: Great place for reading. BETTY: Yes, I like it. BILL: Whats the book? BETTY: The Sound and the Fury. BILL: Oh. Hemingway. (Bell) Whats the book? BETTY: The Sound and the Fury. BILL: Oh. Faulkner. BETTY: Have you read it? BILL: Notactually. Ive sure read about it, though. Its supposed to be great. BETTY: It is great. BILL: I hear its great. (Small pause) Waiter? (Bell) Whats the book? BETTY: The Sound and the Fury. BILL: Oh. Faulkner. BETTY: Have you read it? BILL: Im a Mets fan, myself. Bell. BETTY: Have you read it? Bill: Yeah, I read it in college. BETTY: Where was college? BILL: I went to Oral Roberts University. Bell. BETTY: Where was college? BILL: I was lying. I never really went to college. I just like to party. Bell. BETTY: Where was college? BILL: Harvard. BETTY: Do you like Faulkner? WEN, YU, FRE, FAL, FYND, IFF, HEVEN, WAITZ. There is a door to the outside at right, another door at left.