Every Good Boy Deserves Favor and Professional Foul (2 page)

He would be the first to object that in mentioning his name only, I am putting undue emphasis on his part in the Czechoslovakian human rights movement. Others have gone to gaol, and many more have been victimized. This is true. But I have in mind not just the Chartist but the author of
The Garden Party, The Memorandum, The Audience
and other plays. It is to a fellow writer that I dedicate
Professional Foul
in admiration.

E
VERY
G
OOD
B
OY
D
ESERVES
F
AVOR
A Play for Actors and Orchestra

To Victor Fainberg and Vladimir Bukovsky

Characters

ALEXANDER

IVANOV

SACHA

DOCTOR

TEACHER
(female)

COLONEL

Although in this edition only the text is printed,
Every Good Boy Deserves Favour
is a work consisting of words and music, and is incomplete without the score composed by its co-author André Previn.

Every Good Boy Deserves Favour
was first performed at the Festival Hall in July 1977, with the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by André Previn. The cast was as follows:

Three separate acting areas are needed
.

1. The
CELL
needs two beds
.

2. The
OFFICE
needs a table and two chairs
.

3. The
SCHOOL
needs a school desk
.

These areas can be as small as possible but each has to be approachable from each of the others, and the lighting on each ought to be at least partly controllable independently of the other two and of the orchestra itself, which needless to say occupies the platform
.

The
CELL
is occupied by two men
,
ALEXANDER
amd
IVANOV. ALEXANDER
is a political prisoner and
IVANOV
is a genuine mental patient
.

It will become clear in performance, but may well be stated now, that the orchestra for part of the time exists in the imagination of
IVANOV
.

IVANOV
has with him an orchestral triangle
.

The
OFFICE
is empty
.

In the
SCHOOL
the
TEACHER
stands, and
SACHA
sits at the desk
.

CELL

The
OFFICE
and
SCHOOL
are not ‘lit'. In the
CELL, ALEXANDER
and
IVANOV
sit on their respective beds. The orchestra tunes-up. The tuning-up continues normally but after a minute or two the musicians lapse into miming the tuning-up
.

Thus we have silence while the orchestra goes through the motions of tuning
.

IVANOV
stands up, with his triangle and rod. The orchestra becomes immobile
.

Silence
.

IVANOV
strikes the triangle, once. The orchestra starts miming a performance. He stands concentrating, listening to music which we cannot hear, and striking his triangle as and when the ‘music' requires it. We only hear the triangle occasionally
.
ALEXANDER
watches this
—
a man watching another man occasionally hitting a triangle
.

This probably lasts under a minute. Then, very quietly, we begin to hear what
IVANOV
can hear, i.e. the orchestra becomes audible. So now his striking of the triangle begins to fit into the context which makes sense of it
.

The music builds slowly, gently. And then on a single cue the platform light level jumps up with the conductor in position and the orchestra playing fully and loudly. The triangle is a prominent part in the symphony
.

Now we are flying
.
ALEXANDER
just keeps watching
IVANOV
.

IVANOV:
(
Furiously interrupts
) —No—no—no—
(
The orchestra drags to a halt
.)
(
Shouts
.) Go back to the timpani.
(
The orchestra goes back, then relapses progressively, swiftly, into mime, and when it is almost inaudible
ALEXANDER
coughs loudly
.
IVANOV
glances at him reproachfully. After the cough there is only silence with
IVANOV
intermittently striking his triangle, and the orchestra miming
.)

IVANOV:
Better—good—much better …
(
ALEXANDER
is trying not to cough
.
IVANOV
finishes with a final beat on the triangle
.
The orchestra finishes
.
IVANOV
sits down
.
ALEXANDER
coughs luxuriously
.)

IVANOV:
(
Apologetically
) I know what you're thinking.

ALEXANDER:
(
Understandingly
) It's all right.

IVANOV:
No, you can say it. The cellos are rubbish.

ALEXANDER:
(
Cautiously
) I'm not really a judge of music.

IVANOV:
I was scraping the bottom of the barrel, and that's how they sound. And what about the horns?—should I persevere with them?

ALEXANDER:
The horns?

IVANOV:
Brazen to a man but mealy-mouthed. Butter wouldn't melt. When I try to reason with them they purse their lips. Tell me, do you have an opinion on the fungoid log-rollers spreading wet rot through the woodwinds? Not to speak of the glockenspiel.

ALEXANDER:
The glockenspiel?

IVANOV:
I asked you not to speak of it. Give me a word for the harpist.

ALEXANDER:
I don't really—

IVANOV:
Plucky. A harpist who rushes in where a fool would fear to tread—with all my problems you'd think I'd be spared exquisite irony. I've got a blue-arsed bassoon, a bluetongued contra-bassoon, an organ grinder's chimpani, and the bass drum is in urgent need of a dermatologist.

ALEXANDER:
Your condition is interesting.

IVANOV:
I've got a violin section which is to violin playing what Heifetz is to water-polo. I've got a tubercular great-nephew of John Philip Sousa who goes oom when he should be going pah. And the Jew's harp has applied for a visa. I'm seriously thinking of getting a new orchestra. Do you read music?

ALEXANDER:
No.

IVANOV:
Don't worry: crochets, minims, sharp, flat, every good boy deserves favour. You'll pick it up in no time. What is your instrument?

ALEXANDER:
I do not play an instrument.

IVANOV:
Percussion? Strings? Brass?

ALEXANDER:
No.

IVANOV:
Reed? Keyboard?

ALEXANDER:
I'm afraid not.

IVANOV:
I'm amazed. Not keyboard. Wait a minute—flute.

ALEXANDER:
No. Really.

IVANOV:
Extraordinary. Give me a clue. If I beat you to a pulp would you try to protect your face or your hands? Which would be the more serious—if you couldn't sit down for a week or couldn't stand up? I'm trying to narrow it down, you see. Can I take it you don't stick this instrument up your arse in a kneeling position?

ALEXANDER:
I do not play an instrument.

IVANOV:
You can speak frankly. You will find I am without prejudice. I have invited musicians
into my own house
. And do you know why?—because we all have some musician in us. Any man says he has no musician in him, I'll call that man a
bigot
. Listen, I've had clarinet players eating
at my own table
. I've had French whores and gigolos speak to me in the
public street
, I mean horns, I mean piccolos, so don't worry about
me
, maestro, I've sat down with them,
drummers
even, sharing a plate of tagliatelle Verdi and stuffed Puccini—why,
I know people who make the orchestra eat in the kitchen, off scraps, the way you'd throw a trombone to a dog, I mean a second violinist, I mean to the lions; I love musicians, I respect them, human beings to a man. Let me put it like this: if I smashed this instrument of yours over your head, would you need a carpenter, a welder, or a brain surgeon?

ALEXANDER:
I do not play an instrument. If I played an instrument I'd tell you what it was. But I do not play one. I have never played one. I do not know how to play one. I am not a musician.

IVANOV:
What the hell are you doing here?

ALEXANDER:
I was put here.

IVANOV:
What for?

ALEXANDER:
For slander.

IVANOV:
Slander? What a fool!
Never speak ill of a musician
!—those bastards won't rest. They're animals, to a man.

ALEXANDER:
This was political.

IVANOV:
Let me give you some advice. Number one—never mix music with politics. Number two—never confide in your psychiatrist. Number three—
practise!

ALEXANDER:
Thank you.
(
IVANOV
strikes his triangle once.
The
CELL
lighting fades.
Percussion band. The music is that of a band of young children.
It includes strings but they are only plucked.
Pretty soon the percussion performance goes wrong because there
is a subversive triangle in it. The triangle is struck randomly
and then rapidly, until finally it is the only instrument to be
heard. And then the triangle stops
.)

SCHOOL

The lights come up on the
TEACHER
and
SACHA
.
The
TEACHER
is holding a triangle
.

TEACHER:
Well? Are you colour blind?

SACHA:
No.

TEACHER:
Let me see your music.
(
SACHA
has sheet music on his desk
.)
Very well. What are the red notes?

SACHA:
Strings.

TEACHER:
Green?

SACHA:
Tambourine.

TEACHER:
Purple?

SACHA:
Drum.

TEACHER:
Yellow?

SACHA:
Triangle.

TEACHER:
Do you see forty yellow notes in a row?

SACHA:
No.

TEACHER:
What then? Detention is becoming a family tradition.
Your name is notorious. Did you know that?

SACHA:
Yes.

TEACHER:
How did you know?

SACHA:
Everybody tells me.

TEACHER:
Open a book.

SACHA:
What book?

TEACHER:
Any book.
Fathers and Sons
, perhaps.
(
SACHA
takes a book out of the desk
.)
Is it Turgenev?

SACHA:
It's my geometry book.

TEACHER:
Yes, your name goes round the world. By telegram. It is printed in the newspapers. It is spoken on the radio. With such a famous name why should you bother with different colours? We will change the music for you. It will look like a field of buttercups, and sound like dinnertime.

SACHA:
I don't want to be in the orchestra.

TEACHER:
Open the book. Pencil and paper. You see what happens to anti-social malcontents.

SACHA:
Will I be sent to the lunatics' prison?

TEACHER:
Certainly not. Read aloud.

SACHA:
‘A point has position but no dimension.'

TEACHER:
The asylum is for malcontents who don't know what they're doing.

SACHA:
‘A line has length but no breadth.'

TEACHER:
They know what they're doing but they don't know it's anti-social.

SACHA:
‘A straight line is the shortest distance between two points.'

TEACHER:
They know it's anti-social but they're fanatics.

SACHA:
‘A circle is the path of a point moving equidistant to a
given point.'

TEACHER:
They're sick.

SACHA:
‘A polygon is a plane area bounded by straight lines.'

TEACHER:
And it's not a prison, it's a hospital.
(
Pause
.)