Women in a PlaygroundAUTHOR’S NOTE I graduated from Yale School of Drama in spring 1974. A play I co-au- thored with Albert Innaurato, The Idiots Karamazov, was chosen by Robert Brustein for production that fall at the Yale Repertory Theater. Brustein, hav- ing seen me perform and sing at the Yale Cabaret, chose to cast me as the monk Aloysha Karamazov who, in Albert’s and my version, becomes a rock singer under the tutelage of Anais Nin. | also got cast in a small but interesting role in a serious production of Dostoevesky’s, The Possessed, directed by Polish film- maker Andrej Wajda. Once these two acting jobs were over, I found myself suddenly facing the real world and having no money. I then went through a six-month period of supporting myself (still in New Haven) with three part-time jobs: I taught act- ing at Southern Connecticut State College; I helped a doctor at the Yale Medical School index his book on schizophrenia; and through the Katy Cook Temporary Employment Service, I got a typing job at the Yale Medical School, writing to people who had donated their bodies to science after death to tell them that Yale had a glut of bodies and they should make other plans. Did you pethaps receive a letter from me? Why am I telling you all this? No real reason, except it was during this pe- riod and for one of those jobs that I wrote the following two pieces. Teaching acting twice a week, I mostly used Viola Spolin’s book of theater games as my guide. But after a while, | started to want to experiment with the students on acting intentions and how much they could change a text. We es- pecially used ambiguous scenes from Harold Pinter, which in their ambiguity were especially able to shift radically depending on what intentions you played. (We did one scene two ways: First the actor played that he intended to kill his wife, though nowhere does the text suggest such a thing; then the next time doing the same scene, he played that he was deeply depressed and intended to kill himself, Same scene, same words, but obviously wildly different meanings and effect.) As I got more comfortable with the class, I started to write short scenes of my own that I'd bring in for them to work on. These two are the only ones I can still find. (The others are in a box somewhere.) CHARACTERS ETHEL, fairly happy ALICE, not too happy 172 CHRISTOPHER DURANG WOMEN IN A PLAYGROUND Ethel, Alice ETHEL: Which one is yours? ALICE: What? Oh, the little boy in the blue jacket. ETHEL: Oh. That's a nice jacket. ALICE: Yes. (Silence.) Which is yours? ETHEL: That’s Mary playing with your son. ALICE: Oh yes. ETHEL: She's five. ALICE: Oh. She’s a pretty child. ETHEL: She’s very well behaved and never gives me a moment of worry. ALICE: That must be nice for you. (Silence.) ETHEL: How old is your son? ALICE: He’s five also. ETHEL: What's his name? ALICE: James. ETHEL: James. Do you call him Jimmy? ALICE: No. Not yet. ETHEL: But you might? ALICE: No, I don’t think we will. James. (Silence.) ETHEL: Does he give you any trouble? ALICE: Not yet. ETHEL: That’ nice he hasn’t given you any trouble. WOMEN IN A PLAYGROUND 173ALICE: Well, you never know when he'll start though. ETHEL: That's sort of a pessimistic attitude to take. ALICE: Oh, I am pessimistic. ETHEL: I’m an optimist, and me and my husband are very happy. ALICE: Are you? ETHEL: Yes we are. ALICE: Well, that may change. ETHEL: I hope not. ALICE: We all hope not, but that doesn’t stop things changing. ETHEL: I don't think I could stand to have your attitude. I wouldn't want to get up in the mornings. ALICE: And you do now? ETHEL: Of course I do. ALICE: Why? ETHEL: Well, to make breakfast for my husband. Bill. And for my little girl Mary. And to take Mary to the playground. And to see what the day has in store. ALICE: To see what’s in store, eh? ETHEL: Yes. ALICE: I don’t see why anyone would be anxious for that. Lots of terrible things can be in store. ETHEL: Well, of course, I know that. I may be an optimist, but I’m no Pollyanna. But you have to proceed as if things will be all right, you have to proceed that way, or you'll never get things done. ALICE: You've gotten that philosophy from some saying or other. You sound like the back of a match pack. ETHEL: Well, I hope you don’t give your philosophy to your little boy. You'll have a suicide case on your hands before he’s eight. ALICE: Six. Look, they're climbing up the slide. Do you think either one will fall off? (End.) 174 CHRISTOPHER DURANG