Boy Out of the Country, page 1
FELIX NOBIS is a poet, playwright, and actor. He was playwright-in-residence with the Q Theatre (Penrith, NSW); and was a member of the Sydney Theatre Company’s Fresh Ink program and Melbourne Theatre Company’s Affiliate Writers’ program. He is currently a lecturer with the Centre for Theatre and Performance at Monash University.
As a poet and performer, Felix has toured his translation of the medieval epic poem, Beowulf, as a one-person show throughout the US and Europe. He also adapted and narrated the translation for ABC Radio National’s ‘Poetica’ program. His one-person poetical narrative, Once Upon a Barstool, was commissioned by An Chomhairle Ealaíon (Arts Council of Ireland). It premiered in Cork, Ireland before enjoying a successful season at La Mama Theatre and a tour of regional Victoria in 2009.
Felix has worked extensively with ABC Radio National as a performer and occasional producer. He has worked with ABC TV as an actor in series such as ‘Janus’ and ‘MDA’. Felix is an award-winning poet. In 2014 a selection of his poetry was recorded and CD-released as a volume of Going Down Swinging’s ‘One Night Wonders’ series.
INTRODUCTION
* * *
I am a boy out of the country. I have one brother; we had our mythical places of adventure; we made model aeroplanes—but let’s stop there. I don’t yet want to give away too much of this marvellous play, and how it connects with my own history.
I connect to this play—and I invite you to connect to it, too—because it speaks to the present as much as it does to the past. For someone like me, who teaches two rarely-intersecting dramatic traditions (Australian and Shakespearean), Boy Out of the Country is gold dust. This play tackles some of the staples of Australian drama: the country’s impact on its people; the peoples’ impact on the country; men behaving like boys and the women who put up with them (or not); love and sex; past and present. This is a play very much about inheritance. In this, Boy Out of the Country shares kinship with the Australian dramatic staple, Ray Lawler’s Summer of the Seventeenth Doll. Like Lawler, Nobis engages in a Shakespearian revelry in language: glorious, idiomatic, rhythmical, muscular, and hilariously bad language. Rarely has the word ‘fuck’ been rendered so poetic. The prologue suggests this language should be ‘celebrated rather than shied away from’, and spoken aloud. I agree. Take some companions and a few copies of this book, go to a somewhat removed paddock, and let it rip!
Let me offer you some of the production history of Boy Out of the Country. I first heard the play in a development reading at fortyfivedownstairs, Melbourne. I descended a couple of flights of stairs and emerged—greeted by Melbourne’s most ebullient front-of-housers—into a timber-floored and paint-flecked warehouse. Five actors sat onstage in a row, and stood in turn to speak their lines. I was spellbound. Sixty years ago, the first audiences of The Doll reported that the play made them feel spoken for, spoken to, spoken through. These were my feelings at Boy. The pace, the rhythm, the force of the language: five somewhat under-prepared actors were belting out this play-poem and it was as visceral as the footy finals.
I wondered about the play being staged as a full production, and felt slightly apprehensive that its dynamism might be reduced when the actors moved around and physically represented the action. The direct address of a development reading suits the play. It contains beautifully interwoven scenes of—yes, Shakespeare or Monk O’Neill-like—direct address to the audience. It could easily be a radio play. Could it be a film, too? A film in Aussie verse? I needn’t have worried about a full staging. The 2013 production was as funny and nuanced as one could hope for. But that first, intimate, privileged development reading: ’tis in my memory locked. (Parenthetical suggestions: 1. Go to developments readings, they might just be magical; 2. Try reading this play aloud with characters seated in a row; let the rhythms sink deep.)
One little note on Etho. Etho is the grand, mythical place where Boy’s brothers, Hunter and Gordon, find adventure. My brother and I had a place just like it—though we didn’t have a name for it. Our place contained a dam, mullock heaps, rabbits, snakes, a raft, tunnels, and a summer’s worth of mischief. Perhaps you won’t connect to this play quite as personally as I do. But great drama offers connections to worlds distant as well as close; inconceivable as well as familiar. If you’ve not yet journeyed to an Etho, turn the page … enjoy.
Rob Conkie
Melbourne
January 2016
Rob Conkie is a Senior Lecturer of Theatre and Drama at LaTrobe University.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Some people get mentioned a great deal in theatre acknowledgements. Julian Meyrick and Mary Lou Jelbart are two such people, and like many before me, I extend my thanks to them. Julian nurtured this work as part of Melbourne Theatre Company’s Affiliate Writers’ program, and Mary Lou supported the play through its rehearsed reading stages to the successful season at fortyfivedownstairs. True champions of theatre should be celebrated at every opportunity.
I extend my thanks to the many actors who have been part of the development of this script, particularly Ezra Bix, Geoff Lemon, Alison Richards, Drew Tingwell and others who gave their character insights over the play’s long gestation. I particularly thank the cast of the fortyfivedownstairs production and all who were involved that season, especially co-director Fleur Kilpatrick.
I also express my gratitude for the support of the R. E. Ross Trust, Monash Academy of Performing Arts, and our major production sponsor Jayco. My thanks go to Rob Conkie and Currency Press, especially Claire Grady and Stefania Cox. Thanks to Monash University for their ongoing support. Finally, I extend my thanks to my siblings and friends, many of whom appear in this play in one form or another, and to my partner Ben for his support throughout.
The play is dedicated to Greg Smeaton (1958—2013) a great story-teller; and to my mother, who knew how to raise boys.
Felix Nobis
Boy Out of the Country was originally produced by Wolf Heidecker / Larrikin Ensemble Theatre at fortyfivedownstairs, Melbourne, on 21 November 2013, with the following cast:
HUNTER Martin Blum
GORDON Matthew Dyktynski
RACHEL Amanda LaBonte
MARGARET Jane Clifton
SERGEANT WALKER Chris Bunworth
Directors, Fleur Kilpatrick & Felix Nobis
Designer, Rob Sowinski
Dramaturg, Julian Meyrick
Original Music, Bang Mango Cools
CHARACTERS
HUNTER SMEATON, in his 40s
GORDON SMEATON, Hunter’s older brother, in his 40s
RACHEL SMEATON, married to Gordon
MARGARET SMEATON, mother of Hunter and Gordon
SERGEANT WALKER, the local cop, 58
SETTING
The action of the play takes place in Cradletown, a small country town in regional Victoria.
A NOTE ON THE LANGUAGE
This play is in verse. The verse is not always apparent within the written text and should rarely be obvious in performance, yet every section engages with poetic structures of metre, rhythm and occasionally rhyme. I encourage the reader to speak some passages out loud and to find the rhythm within the scene … I encourage the actors to fight against the rhythm once it is found and to speak the language as their own. The audience should find something natural and yet strange about the language, and this is the desired effect.
Whereas the play contains a fair amount of bad language, a close reading will reveal that the swearing actually consists almost entirely of the same word repeated over and over. This word is employed to emphasise rhythm, humour and often propels the language forward. In this, it contributes a poetic, rather than vulgar tone to the play, and should be celebrated rather than shied away from.
ACT ONE
* * *
SCENE ONE
A country police station.
GORDON enters, holding a handkerchief to his busted eye. He is followed immediately by HUNTER and then SERGEANT WALKER. An argument is in full swing.
GORDON: Why?!
HUNTER: What d’ya mean / ‘Why’?
WALKER: / Oh, for God’s sake, Hunter. Why?!
HUNTER: Why not ask why Gordon keeps his mother in a cupboard?
GORDON: Why not ask why Hunter, after seven years of silence wants to—
HUNTER: Why not ask why Gordon—? And it wasn’t even seven—
GORDON: After seven solid years of total silence—
HUNTER: Wants to lock up his poor mother,
And I sent a dozen postcards.
GORDON: Not to me!
HUNTER: No, not to you!
As if I’d send a fucking postcard to you, ya dumb shit!
GORDON: Simply turns up out of nowhere, and [touching his eye] ouch! Jesus!
HUNTER: Have you seen this place?
WALKER: No.
HUNTER: It’s a refrigerator. Dirty lino on the floor—
WALKER: Although—
HUNTER: It’s cold, dark, small, it’s pretty much a Kelvinator.
WALKER: Though—
HUNTER: The difference is no light goes on, when you open up the door!
WALKER: Although—
GORDON: I’ll have you know, she chose it, and she’s happy there!
WALKER: I’ve heard—
GORDON: It costs, I don’t mind saying—
HUNTER: Gordon, I don’t want to hear!
GORDON: Well, you’re not paying it!
It costs almost thirty grand a year!
HUNTER: As if you pay, As if you pay!
Hey, hey, hey, hey!
Silence.
Now, both of yuz … Just … Both of yuz, just …
Both sit down!
The amount of times I’ve pulled you both apart like dogs in the street,
Your poor mother!
If you have no respect for yourselves …
Your poor mother!
I get a phone call from the Golden Crown, ‘The Smeaton boys are back at it’.
How long have the pair of ya been back in the same town, eh?
‘The Smeaton boys are back at it!’
I remember your old man, draggin’ the pair of yuz,
Kickin’ and screamin’, by your torn school clothes,
Your poor mother was crying,
And two of yuz tryin’ to kill each other,
Throws ya down and gets the garden hose.
And don’t go thinkin’, for a moment, that I won’t do the same.
Shame is all I can say, shame bloody shame on yuz.
What kinda yahoos are yuz, eh?
…
GORDON: I—
WALKER: Now, Hunter! I hear this home your mum’s at is okay.
Although I ain’t personally seen it.
GORDON: She gets two hot meals a day!
WALKER: Gordon, I mean it, mate!
You’ll both get your say.
But for the moment, I just wanna hear from Hunter.
HUNTER: Hear what?
WALKER: Welcome back. You’re looking well.
How ya been? And what the fuckin’ hell is going on here son?
HUNTER: Dunno whatcha mean.
WALKER: What brings ya back to town?
When did you get it in?
How long you plan to stick around?
GORDON: And—
WALKER: Gordon! Why don’t you and I just listen for a moment?
Hear what Hunter’s got to say.
GORDON: I want to talk to Rachel.
WALKER: She’s already on her way.
Now … Hunter?
HUNTER: Alf?
…
Whatcha wanna know?
WALKER: How long you plan to stay?
HUNTER: Dunno, maybe a day or so.
WALKER: When did ya get in?
HUNTER: Turned up this arvo, eh.
WALKER: Drove?
HUNTER: By bus.
WALKER: From where?
HUNTER: Ballarat.
GORDON: Is that where you’ve been hiding?
HUNTER: No, it’s where I caught a bus, ya fuckin’ nong.
WALKER: And then?
HUNTER: Stopped in at the Crown.
Had a few pots,
No-one I knew there so I went to visit Mum.
WALKER: I see. Was she expecting you?
HUNTER: Not that I know of.
WALKER: But it’s the first time you’ve seen her, for what? For how long?
HUNTER: A couple of years? I don’t know. I been away.
GORDON: You been away?! He’s been away!
We fuckin’ hadn’t noticed, eh?
WALKER: Alright, / Gordon
GORDON: / Seven years of peace. We never would have noticed!
WALKER: Go on, Hunter.
HUNTER: Turned up at the old place. All fenced off.
Fuckin’ padlock on the door. Graffiti and stuff
All over the place: a war zone.
You been there lately?
Steps and porch all overgrown
With weeds and crap,
And these kids hangin’ around on pushbikes.
I go, ‘Mrs Smeaton who lives here, you know where she is?’
And one of these little fucks is like,
Yeah, he does, but it’ll cost me ten bucks,
And I grab him, and tell him, I’ll ask you again,
’N’ if you don’t want that pushbike shoved up your arse you can
Tell me what you know.
By which time his old man rocks up
Waving a three-o-fuckin’-three,
And guess who it was?
…
Owen Flasher Henderson!
Who showed his dick to that fifth-class chick in high school, you remember?
Tells me Mum’s moved twenty k,
Up toward Talley, but he’s headin’ out that way,
And he can give me a lift.
Shifty little ten-dollar mafia tacker in the backa the ute,
And off we fuckin’ go.
And guess what he tells me next?
GORDON: That—
HUNTER: That the place has been empty for about six months,
But now, apparently, some bastard wants
To buy it as part of some kinda housing development!
GORDON: Let me explain.
HUNTER: By which time we’re there!
Beetlewood, overgrown,
Broken down, fuckin’ aged care home
In the arse end of nowhere.
Mum’s in the twilight zone.
Dressing-gown in the middle of the afternoon,
Sittin’ in solitary confinement, in her pokey fuckin’ fridge.
Sleeping through the day, no idea who’s who.
GORDON: Well, ya been away for seven years, as if she’s gonna know you!
HUNTER: Kicked out of her house—
GORDON: That’s a—
HUNTER: Stuck into a home.
GORDON: A lie!
HUNTER: Doped up on morphine!
GORDON: Crap!
HUNTER: And left out there to die!
GORDON: Now just—
HUNTER: And what I want to know is, if the property’s getting sold
For some kinda housing development,
And if what Flasher Henderson told me’s all true,
Then there’s something, Gordon,
Accordin’ to him,
In the area of one million dollars,
Maybe even two!
GORDON: Oh, here we go! Here we go!
HUNTER: And what I want to know is—
GORDON: If that’s all you’re after.
HUNTER: It’s not what I’m after—
GORDON: Let’s just get one thing clear—
HUNTER: But I spoke to Mum, mate, and I fuckin’ asked her.
And it turns out she’s got no bloody idea
About a housing development!
In fact, and get this, as far as she knows,
She signed the place over,
And everything goes to you and your family!
Now just explain that!
GORDON: That’s Mum getting old,
That’s just basically not true.
HUNTER: So you’re saying that she lied?
GORDON: What I’m saying, Hunter, is that I’d
Be very careful about making accusations, if I were you,
Before checking your facts.
WALKER: Alright, boys.
GORDON: Can we get one thing clear?
Nothing unusual or untoward is going on around here.
Alright?
Don’t start thinking you’ve uncovered some murky affair
Because the only thing uncovered here is life, Hunter,
Just life.
Just grown-ups living life.
Mum simply got too old, and the place was too big for her alone.
Sooner or later it was gonna have to be sold.
Now, as it turns out, the property’s situated
In a recently enabled council subdivision zone—
WALKER: For building housing estates.
GORDON: Dad’s will clearly states
That the land goes to his children and his grandchildren.
And up until now, as far as anybody knew,
And correct me if I’m wrong, but there were only two grandchildren,
My two girls, Coralie and Gracie.
Now nothing in the world is going to stop this housing estate,
So naturally, on behalf of both of them, I’ve been trying to negotiate
The best possible price.
HUNTER: So it’s fuckin’ true!
GORDON: Okay, you know what? I don’t have to explain anything further to you!
I’m acting on behalf of three beneficiaries,
It would have been remiss of me
Not to get the best possible deal.
I know it’s where we grew up, Hunter,
I know how you must feel,
But the opportunity arose and I had to decide fast
…
Between giving my girls a future,
Or hanging on to some relic of the past.
And as for Mum, she got too old, and she simply couldn’t stay.
