Le mot progrès Editions Lansman

THE WORD PROGRESS ON MY MOTHER'S LIPS DOESN'T RING TRUE

Editions Lansman, Paris 2007

Translated from the French by Joyce Nettles

at least 5 actors, women and men

precedentsuivant

 




A surrealistic and deeply ironic look at a family of refugees, that returns to a place reminiscent of the former Yugoslavia.  Two young brothers-in-law insult each other across a road as they exchange news a new baby born to one man’s sister.  Refugees return to the land they were chased off of by a super patriotic Soldier. 

A Father and Mother return to their old burnt-out home and begin to look for the body of their missing Son, so that they can bury him, mourn and carry on.  One Son seeks recognition by the Mother, who seems obsessed with locating the other Son.  Their old neighbors have secrets, and a new young neighborhood is selling bones.  The Father has no recourse but to begin to dig up the old stinking well, the backyard, the forest, and finally the actual burial site.  But, as the bones are dug up and placed on the kitchen table, the one and only Son brings home ghost guests to reclaim those bones. 

We realize that the land is populated by both the living and the dead. And, so, we travel the same absurd and sad journey with the parents, who finally find their lost Son’s bones.  In a seemingly obscure sub-plot we follow the plight of a young woman, who in the final scene we understand is the sister (young mother) from the very first scene.

 


VIBKO and STANKO. The two men are hidden on either side of a kind of no man’s land

VIBKO  (shouting) Stanko! (A beat.) Stanko, you son of a bitch! Can you hear me? (A beat.) Answer me, you bastard. I know you can hear me. (A beat.) Answer me, for God’s sake, I can’t stay here all day. Can you hear me or not?
STANKO (shouting)  Yes.
VIBKO   Are you still alive, you son of a bitch?
STANKO  Yes.
VIBKO   So they haven’t blown your brains out yet?
STANKO   No.
VIBKO   You old bugger! You’re not long for this life, you old bastard! Soon they’ll be cutting you up into little bits, you and the other shits like you. Do you hear?
STANKO   Yes.
VIBKO   You hear me, but you don’t say anything?
STANKO   I say you’re a shit yourself and an old dog, and one day they’ll make you swallow your own tongue.
VIBKO   Was it you that shot at me yesterday?
STANKO   Yes.
VIBKO   And you knew it was me?
STANKO   Yes.
VIBKO   You knew it was me, and you still shot at me?
STANKO   Yes. And next time I’ll put a bullet in your head, that’s for sure.
VIBKO   You little shit! Have you got anything to eat over there? There’s a real stink coming from your direction… Soon you’ll be eating your own shit, you and your other bastard friends. You know, when the wind comes from your direction, it smells of shit. Have you started eating shit already? Stanko, can you hear me?
STANKO   Yes.
VIBKO   I asked you a question.
STANKO   Go fuck yourself!
VIBKO   Tell me, shit face, has my sister had the baby?
STANKO   Yes.
VIBKO   When?
STANKO   Last night.
VIBKO   Is she all right?
STANKO   Yes. And it’s a boy, you schmuck.
VIBKO  (giving a sincere smile, despite himself) A boy!
STANKO   Yes. And they’re going to name it after you, even though you’re a fucking waster.
VIBKO   Oh, no.
STANKO   Oh, yes they are! They’re going to call him Vibko because everybody thinks you’re dead. So he’ll be little Vibko, so the family can always remember big Vibko, the shit who died.
VIBKO   I don’t give a toss what they do.
STANKO   Fine by me. Go fuck yourself.
VIBKO   Is my sister still in hospital?
STANKO   No, she had the baby at home.
VIBKO  Right, listen to me, you stupid jerk….I’m going to send you over a little parcel. There’s some sugar and some powdered milk. Give it to Ida. Right?
STANKO   They don’t need your sugar or your milk. So you can stuff yourself with them.
VIBKO   Listen here, shitface… Just do what I say, OK? I’m the head of the family! I’ll push the parcel into the middle… OK? And because you stink of shit, I’ve put in a packet of Marlborough for you. Just for you, you son of a bitch. While you’re smoking them, you can remember that one of these fine days I’m going to put a bullet in your head. OK?
STANKO   Push it over then.

With the help of a stick, Vibko pushes the parcel into the middle of the road. With another stick used like a hook, Stanko pulls it to his side.

VIBKO          Got it?
STANKO   Yes.
VIBKO   Give it to my sister, all right?
STANKO (lighting a cigarette) Yes.
VIBKO   And tell me if there’s anything she needs.
STANKO (he exhales with pleasure) They don’t need anything. They’ve got everything they want.
VIBKO   You little shit.
STANKO  Shit yourself.

Some moments of silence. Then, we hear the sound of someone playing a harmonica on one of the sides of the road.

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A surrealistic and deeply ironic look at a family of refugees, that returns to a place reminiscent of the former Yugoslavia.  Two young brothers-in-law insult each other across a road as they exchange news a new baby born to one man’s sister.  Refugees return to the land they were chased off of by a super patriotic Soldier.  A Father and Mother return to their old burnt-out home and begin to look for the body of their missing Son, so that they can bury him, mourn and carry on.  One Son seeks recognition by the Mother, who seems obsessed with locating the other Son.  Their old neighbors have secrets, and a new young neighborhood is selling bones.  The Father has no recourse but to begin to dig up the old stinking well, the backyard, the forest, and finally the actual burial site.  But, as the bones are dug up and placed on the kitchen table, the one and only Son brings home ghost guests to reclaim those bones.  We realize that the land is populated by both the living and the dead. And, so, we travel the same absurd and sad journey with the parents, who finally find their lost Son’s bones.  In a seemingly obscure sub-plot we follow the plight of a young woman, who in the final scene we understand is the sister (young mother) from the very first scene.

(THEATRE WITHOUT BORDERS)

Productions in France :

Company Influenscènes, directed by Jean-Luc Paliès, Festival d’Avignon – off, France 2009, Award Coup de cœur de la presse.

Others productions :

National Theater Craiova, Romania, 2005, directed by Serban Puiu

Martin E. Segal Theater Center – New York, United States 2006, directed by Ian Morgan

Amalia Theater– Thessalonique, Greece, 2007, directed by Ersi Vasilikioti

Romanian

English (translation Joyce Nettles)

Greek (translation Ersi Vassilikioti)

Japanese (translation Hiroko Kawaguchi)

Bulgarian (translation Ognan Stamboliev)

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