Coyote V. Acme (9 page)
Authors: Ian Frazier
The novel's hero ⦠is the English language.
âDust-jacket quote
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⦠The novel is about more than four lives; the bonds among the women ⦠almost seem a character in their own right.
â
New York Times Book Review
New York Times Book Review
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The city of Dublin is the novel's main character.
âIntroduction to famous book
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⦠Cicely, Alaska, is as much a central character as the individuals who inhabit it.
â
TV Guide
TV Guide
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The main character is not the narrator but mortality itself.
â
N.Y.T.B.R.
N.Y.T.B.R.
Â
Troy [New York] is the main character; it dominates the book.
â
N.Y.T.B.R.
N.Y.T.B.R.
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⦠The novel is always about Bridgeport [Connecticut], which really is the central character.
â
N.Y.T.B.R
.
N.Y.T.B.R
.
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New York City has been not only a backdrop for television series but a crusty character in its own right.
â
The New Yorker
The New Yorker
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The Bob [Marshall Wilderness Area] is more than background; it's a character in the story.
â
Great Falls
(Montana)
Tribune
Great Falls
(Montana)
Tribune
“THE NOVEL'S MAIN CHARACTER”
A play in three acts
TIME:
The President
PLACE:
Hedda Gabler
The President
PLACE:
Hedda Gabler
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Dramatis personae (in order of appearance):
| The English Language | Sir Ralph Richardson |
| The Bonds Among the Women | Sir John Gielgud |
| The City of Dublin | Joan Plowright |
| Cicely, Alaska | Claire Bloom |
| Mortality Itself | Itself |
| Troy | Kenneth Branagh |
| Bridgeport | Kenneth Branagh |
| New York City | Sally Kirkland |
| The Bob | Dame Edith Evans |
ACT I, SCENE I
Enter
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE,
in blue tights and red cape.
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE,
in blue tights and red cape.
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE:
I before e, except after c,
or when sounded as a,
as in
neighbor
or
weigh.
or when sounded as a,
as in
neighbor
or
weigh.
Enter
THE BONDS AMONG THE WOMEN, THE CITY OF DUBLIN,
and
CICELY, ALASKA,
in appropriate costumes.
THE BONDS AMONG THE WOMEN, THE CITY OF DUBLIN,
and
CICELY, ALASKA,
in appropriate costumes.
THE BONDS AMONG THE WOMEN (
in a loud whisper
): You're upstaging me, you know.
in a loud whisper
): You're upstaging me, you know.
THE CITY OF DUBLIN: Oh, yeah? You almost-a-character, you! I oughtaâ
They fight.
CICELY, ALASKA: Help! Murder!
Enter MORTALITY ITSELF, in the form of a speeding tow truck, from stage right.
ALL: Save us!
CURTAIN.
ACT II, SCENE I
The lights come up to reveal
TROY,
clad in black except for a headpiece representing the city skyline.
TROY,
clad in black except for a headpiece representing the city skyline.
TROY: I am Troy, a city of over fifty-four thousand, situated just minutes north of Albany. My principal industries are education, service, and local government.
Changes quickly to a headpiece representing
BRIDGEPORT.
BRIDGEPORT.
BRIDGEPORT: And I, in my valley of the Pequon-nock, am substantial Bridgeport, proud employer of nearly two hundred thousand in the manufacture of transportation equipment, machinery, electrical equipment, fabricated metals, and other, nonspecified manufacturing.
Enter
NEW YORK CITY,
in even fancier costume.
NEW YORK CITY,
in even fancier costume.
NEW YORK CITY (
crustily
): Oh, shove it along, you scene-stealing, part-padding littleâ
crustily
): Oh, shove it along, you scene-stealing, part-padding littleâ
Kicks him in shins.
BRIDGEPORT: Bloody hell!
Lunges at her. They grapple to the floor.
CURTAIN. INTERMISSION.
ACT III, SCENE I
Enter
THE BOB,
in an endless-mountainous-waste-of-snow-trees-and-sky costume.
THE BOB,
in an endless-mountainous-waste-of-snow-trees-and-sky costume.
THE BOB: Created by act of Congress in 1966, I am the largest officially designated Wilderness Area in the contiguous forty-eight states. I can beat anybody.
Enter omnes. General free-for-all ensues.
MORTALITY ITSELF
crushes
TROY/BRIDGEPORT
under its wheels.
crushes
TROY/BRIDGEPORT
under its wheels.
THE BONDS AMONG THE WOMEN
and
THE CITY OF DUBLIN
stab each other.
and
THE CITY OF DUBLIN
stab each other.
NEW YORK CITY
and
CICELY, ALASKA,
butt heads, fall unconscious.
and
CICELY, ALASKA,
butt heads, fall unconscious.
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE
is killed attempting to intervene.
is killed attempting to intervene.
None are left standing but
MORTALITY ITSELF
and
THE BOB.
MORTALITY ITSELF
and
THE BOB.
THE BOB: I am the land, I endure.
Fires a grenade launcher through
MORTALITY ITSELF' S
windshield.
MORTALITY ITSELF' S
windshield.
MORTALITY ITSELF
explodes in flames, siren screeching. Siren fades.
explodes in flames, siren screeching. Siren fades.
CURTAIN.
Â
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“The Novel's Main Character” was first performed before a live audience in the Old Ben Theatre in London, England. Subsequently, a production featuring
the original cast was mounted in New York, using a text in which a few words had been changedâ“lorry” to “flashlight,” for exampleâto make it more acceptable to an American ear. Critics agreed that no cast could have better suited the roles. As The English Language, Sir Ralph invested the part with shadings that gave the audience a sense of what it felt like to be a modern language from the inside; at the character's tragic and unnecessary death in Act III, some had to look away. Sir John, departing from typecasting to play The Bonds Among the Women, fleshed out the role beautifully with expressive hand gestures. The supporting playersâMmes. Plowright and Bloomâdid all that could be asked, despite their relatively brief stage time, while Miss Kirkland and Mr. Branagh portrayed large metropolitan areas with aplomb. The evening, however, belonged to Dame Edith as The Bob, who always brought the house down with her entrance, carrying her costume as lightly as if it were silk and not a two-hundred-pound construction of dentist's plaster, model-railroad evergreens, and artificial snow. After a long run on Broadway, the company toured the States, and then the play became a popular radio show, a movie, and then a play again, with a different title but the same idea. Many of the original cast members went on to newfound fame in their adopted country in a variety of stage and screen roles. Dame Edith, a victim of her own success, grew tired of always being cast as scenery, and so returned home.
the original cast was mounted in New York, using a text in which a few words had been changedâ“lorry” to “flashlight,” for exampleâto make it more acceptable to an American ear. Critics agreed that no cast could have better suited the roles. As The English Language, Sir Ralph invested the part with shadings that gave the audience a sense of what it felt like to be a modern language from the inside; at the character's tragic and unnecessary death in Act III, some had to look away. Sir John, departing from typecasting to play The Bonds Among the Women, fleshed out the role beautifully with expressive hand gestures. The supporting playersâMmes. Plowright and Bloomâdid all that could be asked, despite their relatively brief stage time, while Miss Kirkland and Mr. Branagh portrayed large metropolitan areas with aplomb. The evening, however, belonged to Dame Edith as The Bob, who always brought the house down with her entrance, carrying her costume as lightly as if it were silk and not a two-hundred-pound construction of dentist's plaster, model-railroad evergreens, and artificial snow. After a long run on Broadway, the company toured the States, and then the play became a popular radio show, a movie, and then a play again, with a different title but the same idea. Many of the original cast members went on to newfound fame in their adopted country in a variety of stage and screen roles. Dame Edith, a victim of her own success, grew tired of always being cast as scenery, and so returned home.
WE CAN KICK YOUR CITY'S ASS
â
New slogan for New York City, proposed on a TV show, embraced by Mayor Giuliani, and offered as a button from the New York
Daily News
New slogan for New York City, proposed on a TV show, embraced by Mayor Giuliani, and offered as a button from the New York
Daily News
F
irst thing every morning when I sit down to eat, I get in my breakfast's face. I violate the space of that breakfastâthe dry cereal, one-per-cent skim, fruit juice, what have youâI really get loud with it. I tell it what I want it to do for me that day from a nutritional standpoint. Hey, I'm a New Yorkerâmy food doesn't give
me
ulcers, I give it ulcers. Then I eat it. I go at that breakfast one hundred percent. And I don't care what you're havin', eggs over, hash browns, grits like they got down South (grits! what a joke!), my breakfast can kick whatever you're havin' 's ass. It's not what's on the plate, it's the attitude. With the right New York attitude, I can take my breakfast and beat your breakfast, then take your breakfast and beat my breakfast.
irst thing every morning when I sit down to eat, I get in my breakfast's face. I violate the space of that breakfastâthe dry cereal, one-per-cent skim, fruit juice, what have youâI really get loud with it. I tell it what I want it to do for me that day from a nutritional standpoint. Hey, I'm a New Yorkerâmy food doesn't give
me
ulcers, I give it ulcers. Then I eat it. I go at that breakfast one hundred percent. And I don't care what you're havin', eggs over, hash browns, grits like they got down South (grits! what a joke!), my breakfast can kick whatever you're havin' 's ass. It's not what's on the plate, it's the attitude. With the right New York attitude, I can take my breakfast and beat your breakfast, then take your breakfast and beat my breakfast.
A word of warning here, in case you're thinking that because I get in my breakfast's face you can just come up and get in
my
face. Think twice about that, my friend. You want to get in my face, take a number. Let me explain: I'm a New Yorker, so naturally I'm not going to hear you unless you get in my face. In fact, I restrict myself exclusively to in-your-face people,
places, and things, because that's the way I like it. Unfortunately, there's just one problem. Recently, I measured my face, and I don't think I've got more than about seventy square inches of surface area there. Think about it: not a lot of room. The
Daily News
gets in my face every morning, and that more than fills my face right there. So I guess, loving this ass-kicking city as I do, what I really need is a hell of a lot bigger face.
my
face. Think twice about that, my friend. You want to get in my face, take a number. Let me explain: I'm a New Yorker, so naturally I'm not going to hear you unless you get in my face. In fact, I restrict myself exclusively to in-your-face people,
places, and things, because that's the way I like it. Unfortunately, there's just one problem. Recently, I measured my face, and I don't think I've got more than about seventy square inches of surface area there. Think about it: not a lot of room. The
Daily News
gets in my face every morning, and that more than fills my face right there. So I guess, loving this ass-kicking city as I do, what I really need is a hell of a lot bigger face.
The other day, I went ballistic, which I like to do. Weâsome fellow New Yorkers and Iâwere out kicking some other cities' asses. We started in Jersey, on the bank of the Hudson, and worked our way south. First we kicked Englewood's ass, then we kicked Englewood Cliffs' ass, then Fort Lee's ass, then Ridgefield's ass. I mean, we were taking no prisoners. Suddenly, I got distracted, and as we were kicking the ass of North Bergen I inadvertently took some prisoners. Dumb mistake. Now I got all these prisoners chained to the fence in the twenty-four-hour parking lot across the street. It so happens that my friend Bill lives, or lived, in North Bergen. Now the guy is yelling at me from the lot every morning, “So, you kicked our city's ass! Big deal! In New York, you gotâwhat?âeight, nine million people? In North Bergen we got forty-eight thousand four hundred and fourteen, counting my wife and me. How fair is that?” He just doesn't understand. I don't care about fair. Fair is for horseshoes and hand grenades, whatever that means. I don't play nothin' I can't win, and I don't win nothin' I can't etc. Help me out, here, Shirley!
Luckily for me and others, I work as hard as I play. Weekdays, I'm all business. But come Friday I strip off the coat and tie and Merry Widow waist-cincher corset, and change into baggy sweatshirt, jeans, and heels. Then it's down to the playground for an arms-and-elbows game of big-city asphalt-court basketball. In my game, there are two rules: (1) No blood, no foul; and (2) It's not over till the other guys lose. Which, to be up front about it, they always do. I drive on my opponents, I fake them out of their shoes, I stuff them like a Christmas turkey. My game's butter and they're toast, and the only way they're ever going to check me is if they check my groceries at A. & P. If they are smaller and weaker than I am, I flatten them, but if they are my size or biggerâhey, I'm not too proud to back off. I sort of shuffle and bow down, sometimes all the way to their sneaker tops, to let them know I'm making a sincere effort here. Afterward, in my apartment, suddenly something comes over me and I kick my own ass. Hey, it happens, it's nothing I can help. My doctor says it's a medical condition. Unlike most people, due to my specific metabolism, I do need the aggravation.
Kick! Ouch! Kick! Ouch!
I'm writhing around like a carp here. But I'm a New Yorker: I scream and I yell, but then I hug and I kiss. My foot says it's sorry, and makes up with my ass, and my ass accepts the apology, and we all go out for coffee and Danish. I eat standing at the counter in the toughest city in the world.
Kick! Ouch! Kick! Ouch!
I'm writhing around like a carp here. But I'm a New Yorker: I scream and I yell, but then I hug and I kiss. My foot says it's sorry, and makes up with my ass, and my ass accepts the apology, and we all go out for coffee and Danish. I eat standing at the counter in the toughest city in the world.
I
f you live in New York City, or if you've ever visited it, you have probably come across street locations where movies are being made. There are big motor homes parked at the curb, and equipment trucks, and cables on the sidewalk, and brisk young people with polo shirts and walkie-talkies asking you please to walk on the other side. For me, as for most New Yorkers, such an occurrence is now commonplace, and I obey the brisk young people without a thought. Or, rather, I used to. Recently I have made a strange discovery: whatever it is those “film crews” are really doing with their clipboards and their umbrella reflectors and their streetside buffet tables and their hand-lettered signs saying MAKEUP or WARDROBE or MR. VARNEY'S TRAILER,
they're not making movies!
f you live in New York City, or if you've ever visited it, you have probably come across street locations where movies are being made. There are big motor homes parked at the curb, and equipment trucks, and cables on the sidewalk, and brisk young people with polo shirts and walkie-talkies asking you please to walk on the other side. For me, as for most New Yorkers, such an occurrence is now commonplace, and I obey the brisk young people without a thought. Or, rather, I used to. Recently I have made a strange discovery: whatever it is those “film crews” are really doing with their clipboards and their umbrella reflectors and their streetside buffet tables and their hand-lettered signs saying MAKEUP or WARDROBE or MR. VARNEY'S TRAILER,
they're not making movies!
This discovery came about by coincidence. Some years ago I took my sister and two of her friends for drinks in a bar in the lobby of a midtown hotel. We had hardly begun our first round when the waiter told us that we would have to leave, because someone was about to begin filming a movie there. Suddenly squads
of brisk young people were toting cables and moving furniture and talking among themselves in a telegraphic way. As we slid toward the revolving doors, I managed to ask one of them what movie they were working on. He mentioned the name of a well-known director and the title:
They All Laughed.
of brisk young people were toting cables and moving furniture and talking among themselves in a telegraphic way. As we slid toward the revolving doors, I managed to ask one of them what movie they were working on. He mentioned the name of a well-known director and the title:
They All Laughed.
That should have tipped me off right there. Instead, I watched the movie pages of the local papers for months, then years, waiting for the opening of
They All Laughed.
Of course, any well-informed person knows that probably there is not and never has been any such movie.
They All Laughed?
I'll say they did. They probably howled and roared in the privacy of that emptied-out hotel bar, as they achieved whatever mysterious purpose they had commandeered it for. I began to think back over all the movies I had ever seenâcould I name even one that had been filmed in New York? Also, I recalled other instances in which I had asked “film crews” the titles of the alleged movies they were working on. Once, a couple of large men blocking the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge told me that it was closed for the filming of a movie called
Hudson Hawk.
Give me a break!
Hudson Hawk?
I could come up with a likelier title off the top of my head. And it goes without saying that no cinematic offering by that name ever did appear (as far as I know) at my local quadriplex. Another time, I couldn't eat at a favorite lunch counter downtown because of the purported filming of a supposed work titled
Something Wild
. In later years did I or anyone I know ever see or hear of the release of any movie by that name?
Well, maybe there was one, but I never ran across it. Sometimes I wonder why those “filmmakers” bother to concoct names for their “movies” at all.
They All Laughed.
Of course, any well-informed person knows that probably there is not and never has been any such movie.
They All Laughed?
I'll say they did. They probably howled and roared in the privacy of that emptied-out hotel bar, as they achieved whatever mysterious purpose they had commandeered it for. I began to think back over all the movies I had ever seenâcould I name even one that had been filmed in New York? Also, I recalled other instances in which I had asked “film crews” the titles of the alleged movies they were working on. Once, a couple of large men blocking the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge told me that it was closed for the filming of a movie called
Hudson Hawk.
Give me a break!
Hudson Hawk?
I could come up with a likelier title off the top of my head. And it goes without saying that no cinematic offering by that name ever did appear (as far as I know) at my local quadriplex. Another time, I couldn't eat at a favorite lunch counter downtown because of the purported filming of a supposed work titled
Something Wild
. In later years did I or anyone I know ever see or hear of the release of any movie by that name?
Well, maybe there was one, but I never ran across it. Sometimes I wonder why those “filmmakers” bother to concoct names for their “movies” at all.
Â
Â
So what
are
they up to, if they're not making movies? One rather obvious answer comes immediately to mind. They spend a lot of time in and near large motor homesâa favorite recreation of Californians. They move about the city from place to place; Californians are known for their mobility. Many of them are tan. They like to set up buffet tables in the out-of-doors âa habit reminiscent of the patio-style dining favored in California. The food on the buffet tables is usually juices, fresh fruit. and vegetablesâwell-known staples of the Californian diet. In short, these self-described “on-location crews” may simply be Californians who have adapted to the environment of New York City.
are
they up to, if they're not making movies? One rather obvious answer comes immediately to mind. They spend a lot of time in and near large motor homesâa favorite recreation of Californians. They move about the city from place to place; Californians are known for their mobility. Many of them are tan. They like to set up buffet tables in the out-of-doors âa habit reminiscent of the patio-style dining favored in California. The food on the buffet tables is usually juices, fresh fruit. and vegetablesâwell-known staples of the Californian diet. In short, these self-described “on-location crews” may simply be Californians who have adapted to the environment of New York City.
Naturally, the disguise of filmmaker suits these people better than it would emigrants from other states; California has long been known for its association with the movies. Still, I cannot help wondering if something more is going on behind the charade. A while ago the motor homes and cables and buffet tables showed up in my neighborhood in Brooklyn. This time crew members handed out flyers asking residents of certain streets to remove all air-conditioners from streetside windows, in the interests of the period authenticity of the “movie.” Residents who failed to comply at once were petitioned again
and again. My neighbors and I all took down our air-conditioners and laid them on the floor, where we tripped over and stubbed our toes on them for several days until a second flyer came telling us we could put them back. Meanwhile, the motor homes sat at the curbs with their cables snaking down into the basements of adjacent buildings. After a few days I noticed that the motor homes had gotten slightly larger, while the buildings they were connected to had lost a few feet in height.
and again. My neighbors and I all took down our air-conditioners and laid them on the floor, where we tripped over and stubbed our toes on them for several days until a second flyer came telling us we could put them back. Meanwhile, the motor homes sat at the curbs with their cables snaking down into the basements of adjacent buildings. After a few days I noticed that the motor homes had gotten slightly larger, while the buildings they were connected to had lost a few feet in height.
On a hunch, I called Con Ed. They still haven't called me back, but when they do, I am sure another piece of the puzzle will be revealed. Meanwhile, I continue to watch the situation closely, and I advise others to do the same. Peek through a side window of the longest motor home the next time you come across a convoy parked somewhere. Most likely the shades will be tightly drawn. But if they aren't, chances are that this is what you'll see: feet in expensive running shoes, propped on a countertop or table; ankles, negligently crossed, in white sweat socks; tan bare shins covered with fine blond hairs; boxy tan knees; and, propped on the knees, an open copy of the New York
Post.
Many times I have seen just this sight bathed in the motor home's interior glow and framed in the porthole-like window. The brand of the running shoes may change, and the stripe on the sweat socks, and the issue of the newspaper, but the knees, the shinsâthey are always the same. Owing to the angle and perspective, I can never see the rest of the figure. It could be a woman; it is more
probably a man. The shins especially radiate an unmistakable aura of power. Unless I miss my guess, they are the still center of the whole mad enterprise. Something about them is tantalizingly familiar. If I could match them with a face, perhaps I would know all.
Post.
Many times I have seen just this sight bathed in the motor home's interior glow and framed in the porthole-like window. The brand of the running shoes may change, and the stripe on the sweat socks, and the issue of the newspaper, but the knees, the shinsâthey are always the same. Owing to the angle and perspective, I can never see the rest of the figure. It could be a woman; it is more
probably a man. The shins especially radiate an unmistakable aura of power. Unless I miss my guess, they are the still center of the whole mad enterprise. Something about them is tantalizingly familiar. If I could match them with a face, perhaps I would know all.
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