Театр Finborogh специализируется на постановке экспериментальных, редких, а то и забытых пьес. Вот и эта пьеса не ставилась 35 лет. Автор John Antrobus - весьма известный в Британии (особенно гремевший в 60-е годы) драматург, писавший - помимо многих пьес и ситкомов для BBC - тексты для самых знаменитых английских комиков (прежде всего, для Спайка Миллигана и Питера Селлерса). И вот для зрителей этой новой постановки 75-летний автор написал приводимый ниже текст. Очень личный и ... странный. Я, во всяком случае, ничего подобного в театральных програмках не встречал.
Who is the author?
John Antrobus, January 2009
Juliet: ...I was only trying to help.
Juliet: All the lame ducks.
(From Captain Oates' left sock")
The moment the procreation has gone, sometimes the labour was long, at other times the pen was moved by thoughts, just keeping up. For reasons of property the most enlightened authors will still fight for their copyright, it belongs to them! But nothing truly belongs to anybody, we are all passing through, own nothing, enjoy everything. However, let copyright serve its purpose in the world, and in my world I shall not argue with its provision and say thanks. Yet all is provisional, we do not yet sell the air we breathe - though the idea of it has been penned and iself sold. The sunsets are not yet carved up as property and those who have not a ticket purchased forbidden to view.
So to Captain Oates, in my proprietal rights I am expected to have certain views on the subject though it was written in a week some forty years ago. I have none. I am a stranger to it as I am a stranger to the person who inhabited a mental hospital for some two weeks and gained such strong impressions of group therapy the play poured out. I was a "done deal" before a word was writ, and not written from wisdom or knowledge - just written, much like this. What do I know of these psycho-dramas? Am I a Jonathon Miller clone, no some poor ex-patient rather who escaped further madness from that disturbed state I found myself to be in. What day did this happen? My decline from Sixties hero, famed West End playwright to shivering denizen of a lower realm... Money, success, fame, the feast and I could not read the writing on the wall, the lot fell in on me.
It's All In The Mind Folks is the title of recent play about the last days of Peter Sellers. But every word springs from mind and invents P S, as he strove to invent himself, and as I strove to invent an even more remarkable version of myself. All to no avail, fortunately.
Now, alcogol free for forty years, Captain Oates my farewell to the further reaches of a disturbed mind, I have found a sober life and a new and relatively harmless madness in good company of other ex-drinkers and drug addicts. So I look upon this production as a stranger, finding in it hopefully some compassion for others who - like myself - found themselves most unhappy or find themselves so, and I wish for all of us a speedy recovery, even for those who do not yet realise they need one. There is only life, you need live consciously to conceptualise death, else it has not even its own shadow. There is only love and laughter. May you enjoy a goodly measure of that this evening...
(Поминаемый в тексте Sir Jonathon Miller - знаменитый театральный и оперный режиссер, всю жизнь не оставлявший и свою первую профессию доктора-невролога).