Central Park in New York, summer Sunday afternoon. Two garden benches standing opposite each other, behind them are bushes and trees. Peter is sitting on the right bench, reading a book. Peter is about forty years old, completely ordinary, wears a tweed suit and horn-rimmed glasses, smokes a pipe; and although he is already entering middle age, his style of dress and demeanor are almost youthful.
Jerry enters. He is also about forty, and he is dressed not so much poorly as sloppily; his once toned figure begins to grow fat. Jerry cannot be called handsome, but traces of his former attractiveness are still visible quite clearly. His heavy gait and sluggish movements are explained not by promiscuity, but by immense fatigue.
Jerry sees Peter and begins an insignificant conversation with him. Peter at first doesn’t pay any attention to Jerry, then he does answer, but his answers are short, absent-minded and almost mechanical - he can’t wait to return to the interrupted reading. Jerry sees that Peter is in a hurry to get rid of him, but continues to ask Peter about some little things. Peter reacts weakly to Jerry's remarks, and then Jerry falls silent and stares at Peter until he, embarrassed, looks up at him. Jerry offers to talk and Peter agrees.
Jerry comments on what a nice day it is, then states that he was at the zoo and that everyone will read about it in the newspapers and see it on TV tomorrow. Doesn't Peter have a TV? Oh yes, Peter even has two televisions, a wife and two daughters. Jerry venomously remarks that, obviously, Peter would like to have a son, but it didn’t work out, and now his wife doesn’t want to have any more children... In response to this remark, Peter boils up, but quickly calms down. He is curious about what happened at the zoo, what will be written about in the newspapers and shown on television. Jerry promises to talk about this incident, but first he really wants to “really” talk to a person, because he rarely has to talk to people: “Unless you say: give me a glass of beer, or: where is the restroom, or: don’t give free rein to your hands?” , buddy, - and so on.” And on this day, Jerry wants to talk to a decent married man, to find out everything about him. For example, does he have... uh... a dog? No, Peter has cats (Peter would have preferred a dog, but his wife and daughters insisted on cats) and parrots (each daughter has one). And in order to feed “this horde”, Peter works in a small publishing house that publishes textbooks. Peter earns one and a half thousand a month, but never carries more than forty dollars with him (“So... if you are... a bandit... ha ha ha!.."). Jerry begins to find out where Peter lives. Peter at first awkwardly wriggles out, but then nervously admits that he lives on Seventy-fourth Street, and notices Jerry that he is not so much talking as interrogating. Jerry doesn't pay much attention to this remark; he talks absentmindedly to himself. And then Peter again reminds him of the zoo...
Jerry absentmindedly replies that he was there today "and then came here," and asks Peter "what's the difference between upper-middle class and lower-upper-middle class"? Peter doesn't understand what this has to do with it. Then Jerry asks about Peter’s favorite writers (“Baudelaire and Marquand?”), then suddenly declares: “Do you know what I did before I went to the zoo? I walked all the way down Fifth Avenue—on foot all the way.” Peter decides that Jerry lives in Greenwich Village, and this consideration apparently helps him understand something. But Jerry doesn’t live in Greenwich Village at all, he just took the subway there to go from there to the zoo (“Sometimes a person has to make a big detour to the side in order to get back the right and shortest way”). In fact, Jerry lives in an old four-story apartment building. He lives on the top floor, and his window faces the courtyard. His room is a ridiculously cramped closet, where instead of one wall there is a board partition separating it from another ridiculously cramped closet in which a black fagot lives, he always keeps the door wide open when he plucks his eyebrows: “He plucks his eyebrows, wears a kimono and goes to the closet, that’s all.” There are two more rooms on the floor: in one lives a noisy Puerto Rican family with a bunch of children, in the other - someone whom Jerry has never seen. This house is an unpleasant place, and Jerry doesn't know why he lives there. Perhaps because he does not have a wife, two daughters, cats or parrots. He has a razor and a soap dish, some clothes, an electric stove, dishes, two empty photo frames, several books, a deck of pornographic cards, an ancient typewriter and a small safe box without a lock containing sea pebbles that Jerry collected back in the day. as a child. And under the stones are letters: “please” letters (“please don’t do such and such” or “please do such and such”) and later “when” letters (“when will you write?” , "when will you come?").
Jerry's mommy ran away from daddy when Jerry was ten and a half years old. She embarked on a year-long adulterous tour of the southern states. And among Mommy’s many other affections, the most important and unchanging one was pure whiskey. A year later, dear mother gave her soul to God in some landfill in Alabama. Jerry and daddy found out about this just before the New Year. When daddy returned from the south, he celebrated the New Year for two weeks in a row, and then got drunk and hit the bus...
But Jerry was not left alone - his mother's sister was found. He remembers little about her, except that she did everything harshly - she slept, and ate, and worked, and prayed. And on the day when Jerry graduated from school, she “suddenly ended up right on the stairs of her apartment”...
Suddenly Jerry realizes that he forgot to ask the name of his interlocutor. Peter introduces himself. Jerry continues his story, he explains why there are not a single photograph in the frames: “I never met a single lady again, and it never occurred to them to give me photographs.” Jerry admits that he cannot make love to a woman more than once. But when he was fifteen years old, he dated a Greek boy, the son of a park watchman, for a whole week and a half. Perhaps Jerry was in love with him, or maybe just in love with sex. But now Jerry really likes pretty ladies. But for an hour. Not more...
In response to this confession, Peter makes some insignificant remark, to which Jerry responds with unexpected aggression. Peter also begins to boil, but then they ask each other for forgiveness and calm down. Jerry then remarks that he expected Peter to be more interested in pornographic cards than photo frames. After all, Peter must have already seen such cards, or he had his own deck, which he threw away before getting married: “For a boy, these cards serve as a substitute for practical experience, and for an adult, practical experience replaces fantasy. But you seem more interested in what happened at the zoo.” Peter perks up at the mention of the zoo, and Jerry tells...
Jerry talks again about the house in which he lives. In this house, the rooms get better with each floor down. And on the third floor there lives a woman who cries quietly all the time. But the story, in fact, is about a dog and the mistress of the house. The lady of the house is a fat, stupid, dirty, angry, always drunk pile of meat (“you may have noticed: I avoid strong words, so I can’t describe her properly”). And this woman and her dog are guarding Jerry. She always hangs out at the bottom of the stairs and makes sure that Jerry doesn’t drag anyone into the house, and in the evenings, after another pint of gin, she stops Jerry and tries to squeeze him into a corner. Somewhere at the edge of her bird's brain stirs a vile parody of passion. And Jerry is the object of her lust. To discourage his aunt, Jerry says: “Isn’t yesterday and the day before yesterday enough for you?” She puffs herself up, trying to remember... and then her face breaks into a blissful smile - she remembers something that never happened. Then she calls the dog and goes home. And Jerry is saved until next time...
So about the dog... Jerry talks and accompanies his long monologue with an almost continuous movement that has a hypnotic effect on Peter:
- (As if reading a huge poster) THE STORY ABOUT JERRY AND THE DOG! (In a normal tone) This dog is a black monster: a huge muzzle, tiny ears, red eyes, and all the ribs sticking out. He growled at me as soon as he saw me, and from the very first minute this dog gave me no peace. I am not Saint Francis: animals are indifferent to me... just like people. But this dog was not indifferent... It wasn’t that he rushed at me, no - he briskly and persistently hobbled after me, although I always managed to escape. This went on for a whole week, and, oddly enough, only when I entered - when I left, he did not pay any attention to me... One day I became thoughtful. And I decided. First I’ll try to kill the dog with kindness, and if that doesn’t work... I’ll just kill him. (Peter winces.)
The next day I bought a whole bag of cutlets. (Next, Jerry depicts his story in person.) I opened the door slightly - he was already waiting for me. Trying it on. I carefully entered and placed the cutlets about ten steps from the dog. He stopped growling, sniffed the air and moved towards them. He came, stopped, and looked at me. I smiled at him ingratiatingly. He sniffed and suddenly - commotion! - attacked the cutlets. It was as if I had never eaten anything in my life except rotten peelings. He devoured everything in an instant, then sat down and smiled. I give my word! And suddenly - once! - how it will rush at me. But even here he did not catch up with me. I ran into my room and began to think again. To tell the truth, I was very offended and angry. Six excellent cutlets!.. I was simply insulted. But I decided to try again. You see, the dog clearly had antipathy towards me. And I wanted to know whether I could overcome it or not. For five days in a row I brought him cutlets, and the same thing was always repeated: he growls, sniffs the air, comes up, devours them, smiles, growls and - once - at me! I was simply offended. And I decided to kill him. (Peter makes a feeble attempt at protest.)
Don't be afraid. I failed... That day I bought only one cutlet and, as I thought, a lethal dose of rat poison. On the way home, I mashed the cutlet in my hands and mixed it with rat poison. I was both sad and disgusted. I open the door, I see him sitting... He, poor fellow, never realized that as long as he smiled, I would always have time to escape. I put in a poisoned cutlet, the poor dog swallowed it, smiled and then! - to me. But, as always, I rushed upstairs, and, as always, he did not catch up with me.
AND THEN THE DOG GOT STRONGLY SICK!
I guessed because he no longer lay in wait for me, and the hostess suddenly sobered up. That same evening she stopped me, she even forgot about her vile lust and opened her eyes wide for the first time. They turned out to be just like a dog's. She whimpered and begged me to pray for the poor dog. I wanted to say: madam, if we’re going to pray, then for all the people in houses like this... but I, madam, don’t know how to pray. But... I said I would pray. She glanced at me. And suddenly she said that I was lying and probably wanted the dog to die. And I replied that I didn’t want that at all, and that was the truth. I wanted the dog to survive, not because I poisoned him. Frankly, I wanted to see how he would treat me. (Peter makes an indignant gesture and shows signs of growing hostility.)
It is very important! We need to know the results of our actions... Well, in general, the dog recovered, and the owner was drawn to gin again - everything became as before.
After the dog felt better, I was walking home from the cinema in the evening. I walked and hoped that the dog was waiting for me... I was... obsessed?.. bewitched?.. I couldn’t wait to meet my friend again until my heart ached. (Peter looks at Jerry mockingly.) Yes, Peter, with his friend.
So, the dog and I looked at each other. And from then on it went like this. Every time we met, he and I froze, looked at each other, and then feigned indifference. We already understood each other. The dog returned to the pile of rotten garbage, and I walked unhindered to my place. I realized that kindness and cruelty only in combination teach you to feel. But what's the point? The dog and I came to a compromise: we don’t love each other, but we don’t offend each other either, because we’re not trying to understand. So tell me, can the fact that I fed the dog be considered a manifestation of love? Or maybe the dog’s efforts to bite me were also a manifestation of love? But if we are not given the ability to understand each other, then why did we even come up with the word “love”? (There is silence. Jerry comes to Peter's bench and sits down next to him.) This is the end of the Story of Jerry and the Dog.
Peter is silent. Jerry suddenly changes his tone: “Well, Peter? Do you think you can print this in a magazine and get a couple hundred? A?" Jerry is cheerful and animated, Peter, on the contrary, is worried. He is confused, he declares almost with tears in his voice: “Why are you telling me all this? I DID NOT GET ANYTHING! I DON'T WANT TO LISTEN ANYMORE!" And Jerry eagerly peers at Peter, his cheerful excitement gives way to sluggish apathy: “I don’t know why I thought of it... of course, you don’t understand. I don't live on your block. I'm not married to two parrots. I am a perpetual temporary tenant, and my home is the most disgusting little room on the West Side of New York, the greatest city in the world. Amen". Peter retreats, tries to joke, and in response to his ridiculous jokes, Jerry laughs forcedly. Peter looks at his watch and starts to leave. Jerry doesn't want Peter to leave. He first persuades him to stay, then begins to tickle him. Peter is terribly afraid of tickling, he resists, giggles and screams in falsetto, almost losing his mind... And then Jerry stops tickling. However, from the tickling and internal tension with Peter, he is almost hysterical - he laughs and is unable to stop. Jerry looks at him with a fixed, mocking smile, and then says in a mysterious voice: “Peter, do you want to know what happened at the zoo?” Peter stops laughing and Jerry continues: “But first I’ll tell you why I got there. I went to take a closer look at how people behave with animals and how animals behave with each other and with people. Of course, this is very approximate, since everything is fenced off with bars. But what do you want, this is a zoo” - with these words, Jerry pushes Peter on the shoulder: “Move over!” - and continues, pushing Peter harder and harder: “There were animals and people, Today is Sunday, and there were a lot of children there [pokes in the side]. It’s hot today, and there was quite a stench and screaming there, crowds of people, ice cream sellers... [Poke again]” Peter starts to get angry, but obediently moves - and now he’s sitting on the very edge of the bench. Jerry pinches Peter’s arm, pushing him out of the bench: “They were just feeding the lions, and a keeper [pinch] came into one lion’s cage. Want to know what happened next? [pinch]" Peter is stunned and outraged, he calls on Jerry to stop the outrage. In response, Jerry gently demands that Peter leave the bench and move to another, and then Jerry, so be it, will tell what happened next... Peter pitifully resists, Jerry, laughing, insults Peter (“Idiot! Stupid! You plant! Go lie down on the ground! "). Peter boils in response, he sits tighter on the bench, demonstrating that he won’t leave it anywhere: “No, to hell! Enough! I won't give up the bench! And get out of here! I'm warning you, I'll call a policeman! POLICE!" Jerry laughs and doesn't move from the bench. Peter exclaims with helpless indignation: “Good God, I came here to read in peace, and you suddenly take away my bench. You are crazy". Then he becomes furious again: “Get off my bench! I want to sit alone!” Jerry mockingly teases Peter, inflaming him more and more: “You have everything you need - a home, a family, and even your own little zoo. You have everything in the world, and now you also need this bench. Is this what people are fighting for? You don't know what you're talking about. You are a stupid man! You have no idea what others need. I need this bench!” Peter trembles with indignation: “I’ve been coming here for many years. I am a thorough person, I am not a boy! This is my bench, and you have no right to take it away from me!” Jerry challenges Peter to a fight, goading him: “Then fight for her. Protect yourself and your bench.” Jerry takes out and opens a scary-looking knife with a click. Peter is scared, but before Peter can figure out what to do, Jerry throws the knife at his feet. Peter freezes in horror, and Jerry rushes to Peter and grabs him by the collar. Their faces are almost close to each other. Jerry challenges Peter to a fight, slapping him with every word “Fight!”, and Peter screams, trying to escape from Jerry’s hands, but he holds on tightly. Finally Jerry exclaims, “You didn’t even manage to give your wife a son!” and spits in Peter's face. Peter is furious, he finally breaks free, rushes to the knife, grabs it and, breathing heavily, steps back. He clutches the knife, his hand extended in front of him not to attack, but to defend. Jerry, sighing heavily, (“Well, so be it...”) with a running start bumps his chest into the knife in Peter’s hand. A second of complete silence. Peter then screams and pulls his hand away, leaving the knife in Jerry's chest. Jerry lets out a scream - the cry of an enraged and mortally wounded animal. Stumbling, he goes to the bench and sits down on it. The expression on his face has now changed, it has become softer, calmer. He speaks, and his voice sometimes breaks, but he seems to be overcoming death. Jerry smiles: “Thank you, Peter. I seriously say thank you." Peter stands still. He became numb. Jerry continues: “Oh, Peter, I was so afraid that I would scare you away. .. You don’t know how afraid I was that you would leave and I would be left alone again. And now I will tell you what happened at the zoo. When I was at the zoo, I decided that I would go north... until I met you... or someone else... and I decided that I would talk to you... tell you stuff... like that , what don’t you... And that’s what happened. But... I don’t know... is this what I had in mind? No, it’s unlikely... Although... that’s probably exactly it. Well, now you know what happened at the zoo, right? And now you know what you will read in the newspaper and see on TV... Peter!.. Thank you. I met you... And you helped me. Glorious Peter." Peter almost faints, he does not move from his place and begins to cry. Jerry continues in a weakening voice (death is about to come): “You better go. Someone might come, you don't want to be caught here, do you? And don't come here anymore, this is no longer your place. You lost your bench, but defended your honor. And I'll tell you what, Peter, you are not a plant, you are an animal. You are also an animal. Now run, Peter. (Jerry takes out a handkerchief and with effort erases fingerprints from the handle of the knife.) Just take the book... Hurry up...” Peter hesitantly approaches the bench, grabs the book, steps back. He hesitates for a moment, then runs away. Jerry closes his eyes and raves: “Run, the parrots have cooked dinner... the cats... are setting the table...” Peter’s plaintive cry is heard from afar: “OH MY GOD!” Jerry, with his eyes closed, shakes his head, contemptuously imitates Peter, and at the same time in his voice there is a plea: “Oh... God... my.” Dies.
A bulldozer driver and an electric locomotive driver once met... It seems like the beginning of a joke. We met somewhere at the 500th kilometer in the snowy wilderness under the howling of the wind and wolves... We met two solitudes, both “uniform”: one in the uniform of a railway worker, the other in a prison padded jacket and with a shaved head. This is nothing more than the beginning of “An Unforgettable Acquaintance” - the premiere of the Moscow Theater of Satire. Actually, in “Satire” they figured out for three, i.e. figured out to divide two one-act plays by Nina Sadur and Edward Albee into three artists: Fyodor Dobronravov, Andrei Barilo and Nina Kornienko. Everything in the performance is paired or dual, and only director Sergei Nadtochiev, invited from Voronezh, managed to turn the divisible into a single, integral performance. The nameless wasteland, which even the trains hiss, whistling non-stop, suddenly turned out to be a twin city of New York's Central Park, and the domestic restless ex-convict found a common topic for silence with the American loser. The apparent gap between the circumstances of the plays “Drive” and “What Happened at the Zoo” turned out to be just an intermission.
“Drive!”, echoing the title of the play, the man standing on the rails shouts to the driver. The play is built around a man's attempt to commit suicide by train. He is a man, he is a man, the whole country rests on him, but he no longer stands for it. “You are a hero! You were in prison...”, says a young driver (A. Barilo) to an elderly man who has decided not to live long (F. Dobronravov). “You are a traitor, man! You betrayed us! You betrayed all generations!” - youth abandons experience and, instead of lending a helping hand, hits him in the jaw with his fist. But the generational conflict in the play is not resolved by force. Years and rails separate the characters, but they are united by the starry sky and a hundred-ruble piece of paper passed from hand to hand. The stars at the back of the stage shine and fall every now and then. “Zvezdets!” the characters explain, without guessing anything. Lives don't come true, let alone wishes.
Nina Sadur's play, written in 1984, has not lost its relevance, but has become more expensive. It's not a matter of decoration, it is minimal and for such an acting performance it is sufficient and convenient (set design - Akinf Belov). It has become more expensive in the sense of the rise in cost of life, although life is still a penny, but for a fiver, according to the play, you can’t buy red wine anymore. In the play, the red price for the red one is one hundred rubles, and the obscenely expensive candies mentioned in the play at 85 rubles per kilogram go for 850. Focusing on prices, updating the text, the director, however, retained the mention of execution as a criminal punishment (this trouble is promised by one character to another), which in our time of a legal moratorium on the death penalty and illegal executions here and there looks like some kind of omission.
So the driver would have continued to stand for life in the cold, and the man to lie on the rails for death, if “Granny in Boots” had not appeared on the tracks (railroad and life). “Once upon a time there lived a little gray goat with my grandmother,” but he ran away. The grandmother was looking for a goat, but found a man. “I’m no one’s,” the man lamented, and under the light of an abyss full of stars, he suddenly found himself needed by someone.
All three are not loners, but lonely people. Their loneliness is simple, truthful, they have nothing to talk about, but no one to talk to. They don’t have abstract “stress,” but something very specific that “has happened.” But the author, unlike life, is kind to his characters. A conscientious driver who does not want to “spin” in life will spin in the cold, but he will also receive a wise word of hope “for warming up.” The sick man will warm himself up with the grandmother, and the grandmother will now certainly find the runaway goat. On the rails that separated the heroes, a crumpled hundred-ruble note will remain lying - the truth, the one that the characters revealed to each other without knowing it, the characters do not buy. The rails will not disappear, but the paths with which they are laid will curl and intertwine (projection onto the stage) like the lives of the characters on this winter night. Snow will fall on the stage, but the frost will not catch anyone, only the “sick world” will have a slightly lower temperature. The author will not deny even him a chance for recovery.
After intermission, night will give way to day, silver winter to crimson autumn, snow to rain, and the railway to a neat path in the park. Here the quiet family American Peter (A. Barilo), a very average representative of the middle class, will have an unforgettable acquaintance. This phrase for the title of the play is taken exactly from the play by E. Albee. But under the title that promises something pleasant, a blood-chilling story will be revealed.
Peter has only a couple each (for a “double” performance, and this does not seem to be a coincidence): two daughters, two cats, two parrots, two televisions. Jerry's "perpetual temporary tenant" has everything in a single copy, with the exception of two photo frames, empty. Peter, seeking peace from his family in the shade of the trees, would dream of “waking up alone in his cozy bachelor flat,” while Jerry dreams of never waking up. The characters are no longer separated by rails, but by classes, environment, way of life. Good-looking Peter with a pipe and a Time magazine cannot understand sloppy, nervous Jerry in patched pants. Jerry is bright and extraordinary, and Peter is a man of general rules, standards and schemes; he does not understand and is afraid of exceptions. A few years after the premiere of the play, E. Albee dedicated its continuation to him: the background story of the meeting of Peter and Jerry. The play was called “At Home in the Zoo” and talked about a different kind of loneliness, loneliness among family and friends, loneliness and at the same time the inability to be alone.
Peter in the play symbolizes the generally accepted, while Jerry is not accepted by anyone, cast out into life and rejected by it. He is a desperate man because he is desperate. Different from others, the extraordinary Jerry stumbles upon, albeit polite, indifference. People have a lot to do and no one cares about anyone. People make contacts, increase the number of “friends”, but lose friends; By maintaining connections and acquaintances, they will not support a stranger in trouble, or just on an escalator. “A person must somehow communicate with at least someone...” Jerry shouts to the audience, who find it easier to sit on VKontakte than to make contact. Jerry shouts at the faceless mass, reminding him that it is made of people. “We’re spinning this way and that,” the speakers shout in English, as if answering the driver from the first story who didn’t want to “spin.” We spin and spin, taking an example from the planet. Each around its own axis.
Peter and after him the audience will be taken out of the so-called “comfort zone”, from the predictable course of events. Mikhail Zhvanetsky once remarked that “I won’t forget you” sounds pleasant, like recognition, and “I will remember you” sounds like a threat. Peter will remember the meeting on the bench forever, and the public will not forget “what happened at the zoo.” The domestic audience knows that from Pushkin to Bulgakov, meetings on the benches do not promise anything good - in this American play one should not count on a happy ending either.
Both plays appear “out of the blue” and are driven by verbal pull. Loneliness and the desire of the characters to leave a life that did not demand them united these stories. In an attempt to commit suicide, the characters turn to people: having lived their lives alone, they decide to at least face death not alone. The characters have no one to talk to, they have reprimanded themselves, they have condemned themselves. With a snatched, caught interlocutor, a barely glimmering dialogue certainly turns into an exchange of monologues: how to dose the avalanche of unspoken things? There are no pauses on stage; the suicidal characters seem to be caught between the pause of silence of life and the pause of death, which nothing will interrupt. Only in this narrow space, lined like a staff of music, sometimes with stripes of sleepers, sometimes with stripes of a bench, can you talk enough. But the performance, going into words, still penetrates the audience. To be fair, in this case this is not the effect of theater, but the theatricality of what is happening. Thus, according to the stage directions to the central monologue of Albee’s play, the author is counting on a hypnotic effect that could captivate the character-listener, and with him the entire audience. The text is truly chilling. In the play, the monologue, trimmed for the convenience of the actor and the audience, achieves a certain effect not thanks to the actor's recitation, but with the music of Alfred Schnittke. Fyodor Dobronravov, and the whole performance is proof of this, is quite capable of capturing and holding the audience, but at key moments the actor seems to be urged on, hurried by something, and only well-chosen music allows him to break down the text into bars, hear the halftones in it, feel the climax, startle at the sudden ending.
However, the degree of tragedy here has been significantly reduced. To the delight of the audience. Editing the text and selecting music helped. The absurd play, scored by Mario Lanza's hit, finally gave in to the music and flowed after it according to the laws of melodrama. Here there was also a place for Fyodor Dobronravov’s divertissements: be it a ditty about Aunt Manya (from the first act), or “Be with me” from the repertoire of M. Lanz in Russian translation. The director also squeezed a third character into the play, not intended by the author - a cheerful American old lady in huge headphones, completely immersed in the music of Chubby Checker. This pretty old lady shows no interest in others, she simply lives for her own pleasure. Only at the end of the play will she show courtesy and open a black umbrella over Jerry, who is getting wet in the rain. He won't need it anymore.
Both parts of the play turned out to be “not so different from each other.” There is no need to complain about a lack of stage time or material. There was enough of everything here. After all, it was no coincidence that the at first glance strange note on the poster “two short stories for three artists based on plays.” Two short stories based on plays are essentially two retellings of plays, two simple, sincere, sincere stories in person. Any retelling loses a lot compared to the original source. The play “Satire” balances on the brink of melodrama and tragicomedy; the actors do their best, it seems, not to spoil the audience’s mood. Apparently, the walls of the theater, accustomed to laughter, are conducive to this. Laughter at all costs. “Unforgettable Acquaintances” is an attempt to transform the role not only for Fyodor Dobronravov, for whom this performance can be considered a benefit, but also for the theater, which allowed itself to deviate from the usual genre. A little. But the direction is right.
The format of the premiere of the Satire Theater is quite understandable - life, in general, is also a one-act play. Its ending is predictable, but the plot manages to meander in the most bizarre way. It seems that the play based on it is doomed to failure: the director does not explain the concept, all the actors are vying for the main roles, and year after year it becomes more and more difficult for the make-up artist to “look younger” and spruce up... There are no tests, rehearsals, run-throughs... Everything is for the public. Every day is a premiere - for the first and last time.
Photo from the official website of the theater
Edward Albee
What happened at the zoo
Play in one act
CHARACTERS
Peter
about forty years old, neither fat nor thin, neither handsome nor ugly. He wears a tweed suit and horn-rimmed glasses. Smoking a pipe. And although he is, so to speak, already entering middle age, his clothing style and demeanor are almost youthful.
Jerry
about forty years old, dressed not so much poorly as sloppily. The once toned, muscular figure begins to grow fat. Now he cannot be called beautiful, but traces of his former attractiveness are still visible quite clearly. The heavy gait and sluggish movements are not explained by promiscuity; If you look closely, you can see that this man is immensely tired.
Central Park in New York; summer sunday. Two garden benches on both sides of the stage, behind them are bushes, trees, the sky. Peter is sitting on the right bench. He is reading a book. He puts the book on his lap, wipes his glasses and goes back to reading. Jerry enters.
Jerry. I was now at the zoo.
Peter doesn't pay attention to him.
I say, I was just at the zoo. MISTER, I WAS AT THE ZOO!
Peter. Eh?.. What?.. Excuse me, are you telling me?..
Jerry. I was at the zoo, then I walked until I ended up here. Tell me, did I go north?
Peter (puzzled). To the north?.. Yes... Probably. Let me figure it out.
Jerry (points a finger into the audience). Is this Fifth Avenue?
Peter. This? Yes of course.
Jerry. What kind of street is this that crosses it? That one on the right?
Peter. The one over there? Oh, this is the Seventy-four.
Jerry. And the zoo is near Sixty-fifth, which means I was going north.
Peter (he can't wait to get back to reading). Yes, apparently so.
Jerry. Good old north.
Peter (almost mechanically). Haha.
Jerry (after a pause). But not directly north.
Peter. I... Well, yes, not directly north. So to speak, in a northern direction.
Jerry (watches as Peter, trying to get rid of him, fills his pipe). Do you want to give yourself lung cancer?
Peter (not without irritation he glances at him, but then smiles). No sir. You won't make any money from this.
Jerry. That's right, sir. Most likely, you will get cancer in your mouth and you will have to insert something like Freud had after he had half his jaw removed. What are they called, these things?
Peter (reluctantly). Prosthesis?
Jerry. Exactly! Prosthesis. You are an educated person, aren't you? Are you by any chance a doctor?
Peter. No, I just read about it somewhere. I think it was in Time magazine. (Takes up the book.)
Jerry. In my opinion, Time magazine is not for idiots.
Peter. I think so too.
Jerry (after a pause). It's very good that Fifth Avenue is there.
Peter (absently). Yes.
Jerry. I can't stand the western part of the park.
Peter. Yes? (Carefully, but with a glimmer of interest.) Why?
Jerry (casually). I don't know myself.
Peter. A! (He buried himself in the book again.)
Jerry (looks at Peter silently until Peter, embarrassed, looks up at him). Maybe we should talk? Or don't you want to?
Peter (with obvious reluctance). No... why not?
Jerry. I see you don't want to.
Peter (puts down the book, takes the pipe out of his mouth. Smiling). No, really, it’s my pleasure.
Jerry. It's not worth it if you don't want to.
Peter (finally decisively). Not at all, I'm very happy.
Jerry. What's his name... Today is a nice day.
Peter (looking up at the sky unnecessarily). Yes. Very nice. Wonderful.
Jerry. And I was at the zoo.
Peter. Yes, I think you already said... didn't you?
Jerry. Tomorrow you will read about it in the newspapers, if you don’t see it on TV in the evening. You probably have a TV?
Peter. Even two - one for children.
Jerry. Are you married?
Peter (with dignity). Of course!
Jerry. Nowhere, thank God, does it say that this is mandatory.
Peter. Yes... that's of course...
Jerry. So you have a wife.
Peter (not knowing how to continue this conversation). Well, yes!
Jerry. And you have children!
Peter. Yes. Two.
Jerry. Boys?
Peter. No, girls... both are girls.
Jerry. But you wanted boys.
Peter. Well... naturally, every person wants to have a son, but...
Jerry (a little mockingly). But that's how dreams are crushed, right?
Peter (with irritation). That's not what I wanted to say at all!
Jerry. And you're not going to have any more children?
Peter (absently). No. No more. (When I woke up, I would be annoyed.) How did you find out?
Jerry. Maybe it’s the way you cross your legs, or something in your voice. Or maybe he guessed it by accident. The wife doesn't want it, right?
Peter (furiously). None of your business!
Pause.
Jerry nods. Peter calms down.
Well, that's true. We won't have any more children.
Jerry (soft). This is how dreams fall apart.
Peter (forgiving him for this). Yes... perhaps you're right.
Jerry. Well... What else?
Peter. What were you saying about the zoo... what will I read or see about it?..
Jerry. I'll tell you later. Aren't you angry that I'm asking you questions?
Peter. Oh, not at all.
Jerry. Do you know why I pester you? I rarely have to talk to people, unless you say: give me a glass of beer, or: where is the restroom, or: when does the show start, or: don’t give free rein to your hands, buddy, and so on. In general, you know it yourself.
Peter. Honestly, I don't know.
Jerry. But sometimes you want to talk to a person - to really talk; I want to know everything about him...
Peter (laughs, still feeling awkward). And today your guinea pig is me?
Jerry. On such a thoroughly sunny Sunday afternoon, there is nothing better than talking to a decent married man who has two daughters and... uh... a dog?
Peter shakes his head.
No? Two dogs?
Peter shakes his head.
Hm. No dogs at all?
Peter shakes his head sadly.
Well, this is strange! As far as I understand, you must love animals. Cat?
Peter nods sadly.
Cats! But it can’t be that you did it of your own free will... Wife and daughters?
Peter nods.
Curious, do you have anything else?
Peter (he has to clear his throat). There are... there are two more parrots. ... um ... each daughter has one.
Jerry. Birds.
Peter. They live in a cage in my girls' room.
Jerry. Are they sick with something?.. Birds, that is.
Peter. Don't think.
Jerry. It's a pity. Otherwise, you could let them out of the cage, the cats would eat them and then, perhaps, die.
Peter looks at him confused, then laughs.
Well, what else? What are you doing to feed all this crowd?
Peter. I... uh... I work at... at a small publishing house. We... uh... we publish textbooks.
Jerry. Well, that's very nice. Very nice. How much do you earn?
Peter (still fun). Well, listen!
Jerry. Come on. Speak.
Peter. Well, I make fifteen hundred a month, but I never carry more than forty dollars... so... if you... if you're a bandit... ha ha ha!
Jerry (ignoring his words). Where do you live?
Peter hesitates.
Oh, look, I'm not going to rob you and I'm not going to kidnap your parrots, your cats and your daughters.
Peter (too loud). I live between Lexington Avenue and Third Avenue, on Seventy-fourth Street.
Jerry. Well, you see, it wasn't that hard to say.
Edward Albee
What happened at the zoo
Play in one act
CHARACTERS
Peter
about forty years old, neither fat nor thin, neither handsome nor ugly. He wears a tweed suit and horn-rimmed glasses. Smoking a pipe. And although he is, so to speak, already entering middle age, his clothing style and demeanor are almost youthful.
Jerry
about forty years old, dressed not so much poorly as sloppily. The once toned, muscular figure begins to grow fat. Now he cannot be called beautiful, but traces of his former attractiveness are still visible quite clearly. The heavy gait and sluggish movements are not explained by promiscuity; If you look closely, you can see that this man is immensely tired.
Central Park in New York; summer sunday. Two garden benches on both sides of the stage, behind them are bushes, trees, the sky. Peter is sitting on the right bench. He is reading a book. He puts the book on his lap, wipes his glasses and goes back to reading. Jerry enters.
Jerry. I was now at the zoo.
Peter doesn't pay attention to him.
I say, I was just at the zoo. MISTER, I WAS AT THE ZOO!
Peter. Eh?.. What?.. Excuse me, are you telling me?..
Jerry. I was at the zoo, then I walked until I ended up here. Tell me, did I go north?
Peter (puzzled). To the north?.. Yes... Probably. Let me figure it out.
Jerry (points a finger into the audience). Is this Fifth Avenue?
Peter. This? Yes of course.
Jerry. What kind of street is this that crosses it? That one on the right?
Peter. The one over there? Oh, this is the Seventy-four.
Jerry. And the zoo is near Sixty-fifth, which means I was going north.
Peter (he can't wait to get back to reading). Yes, apparently so.
Jerry. Good old north.
Peter (almost mechanically). Haha.
Jerry (after a pause). But not directly north.
Peter. I... Well, yes, not directly north. So to speak, in a northern direction.
Jerry (watches as Peter, trying to get rid of him, fills his pipe). Do you want to give yourself lung cancer?
Peter (not without irritation he glances at him, but then smiles). No sir. You won't make any money from this.
Jerry. That's right, sir. Most likely, you will get cancer in your mouth and you will have to insert something like Freud had after he had half his jaw removed. What are they called, these things?
Peter (reluctantly). Prosthesis?
Jerry. Exactly! Prosthesis. You are an educated person, aren't you? Are you by any chance a doctor?
Peter. No, I just read about it somewhere. I think it was in Time magazine. (Takes up the book.)
Jerry. In my opinion, Time magazine is not for idiots.
Peter. I think so too.
Jerry (after a pause). It's very good that Fifth Avenue is there.
Peter (absently). Yes.
Jerry. I can't stand the western part of the park.
Peter. Yes? (Carefully, but with a glimmer of interest.) Why?
Jerry (casually). I don't know myself.
Peter. A! (He buried himself in the book again.)
Jerry (looks at Peter silently until Peter, embarrassed, looks up at him). Maybe we should talk? Or don't you want to?
Peter (with obvious reluctance). No... why not?
Jerry. I see you don't want to.
Peter (puts down the book, takes the pipe out of his mouth. Smiling). No, really, it’s my pleasure.
Jerry. It's not worth it if you don't want to.
Peter (finally decisively). Not at all, I'm very happy.
Jerry. What's his name... Today is a nice day.
Peter (looking up at the sky unnecessarily). Yes. Very nice. Wonderful.
Jerry. And I was at the zoo.
Peter. Yes, I think you already said... didn't you?
Jerry. Tomorrow you will read about it in the newspapers, if you don’t see it on TV in the evening. You probably have a TV?
Peter
about forty years old, neither fat nor thin, neither handsome nor ugly. He wears a tweed suit and horn-rimmed glasses. Smoking a pipe. And although he is, so to speak, already entering middle age, his clothing style and demeanor are almost youthful.
Jerry
about forty years old, dressed not so much poorly as sloppily. The once toned, muscular figure begins to grow fat. Now he cannot be called beautiful, but traces of his former attractiveness are still visible quite clearly. The heavy gait and sluggish movements are not explained by promiscuity; If you look closely, you can see that this man is immensely tired.
Central Park in New York; summer sunday. Two garden benches on both sides of the stage, behind them are bushes, trees, the sky. Peter is sitting on the right bench. He is reading a book. He puts the book on his lap, wipes his glasses and goes back to reading. Jerry enters.
Jerry. I was now at the zoo.
Peter doesn't pay attention to him.
I say, I was just at the zoo. MISTER, I WAS AT THE ZOO!
Peter. Eh?.. What?.. Excuse me, are you telling me?..
Jerry. I was at the zoo, then I walked until I ended up here. Tell me, did I go north?
Peter (puzzled). To the north?.. Yes... Probably. Let me figure it out.
Jerry (points a finger into the audience). Is this Fifth Avenue?
Peter. This? Yes of course.
Jerry. What kind of street is this that crosses it? That one on the right?
Peter. The one over there? Oh, this is the Seventy-four.
Jerry. And the zoo is near Sixty-fifth, which means I was going north.
Peter (he can't wait to get back to reading). Yes, apparently so.
Jerry. Good old north.
Peter (almost mechanically). Haha.
Jerry (after a pause). But not directly north.
Peter. I... Well, yes, not directly north. So to speak, in a northern direction.
Jerry (watches as Peter, trying to get rid of him, fills his pipe). Do you want to give yourself lung cancer?
Peter (not without irritation he glances at him, but then smiles). No sir. You won't make any money from this.
Jerry. That's right, sir. Most likely, you will get cancer in your mouth and you will have to insert something like Freud had after he had half his jaw removed. What are they called, these things?
Peter (reluctantly). Prosthesis?
Jerry. Exactly! Prosthesis. You are an educated person, aren't you? Are you by any chance a doctor?
Peter. No, I just read about it somewhere. I think it was in Time magazine. (Takes up the book.)
Jerry. In my opinion, Time magazine is not for idiots.
Peter. I think so too.
Jerry (after a pause). It's very good that Fifth Avenue is there.
Peter (absently). Yes.
Jerry. I can't stand the western part of the park.
Peter. Yes? (Carefully, but with a glimmer of interest.) Why?
Jerry (casually). I don't know myself.
Peter. A! (He buried himself in the book again.)
Jerry (looks at Peter silently until Peter, embarrassed, looks up at him). Maybe we should talk? Or don't you want to?
Peter (with obvious reluctance). No... why not?
Jerry. I see you don't want to.
Peter (puts down the book, takes the pipe out of his mouth. Smiling). No, really, it’s my pleasure.
Jerry. It's not worth it if you don't want to.
Peter (finally decisively). Not at all, I'm very happy.
Jerry. What's his name... Today is a nice day.
Peter (looking up at the sky unnecessarily). Yes. Very nice. Wonderful.
Jerry. And I was at the zoo.
Peter. Yes, I think you already said... didn't you?
Jerry. Tomorrow you will read about it in the newspapers, if you don’t see it on TV in the evening. You probably have a TV?
Peter. Even two - one for children.
Jerry. Are you married?
Peter (with dignity). Of course!
Jerry. Nowhere, thank God, does it say that this is mandatory.
Peter. Yes... that's of course...
Jerry. So you have a wife.
Peter (not knowing how to continue this conversation). Well, yes!
Jerry. And you have children!
Peter. Yes. Two.
Jerry. Boys?
Peter. No, girls... both are girls.
Jerry. But you wanted boys.
Peter. Well... naturally, every person wants to have a son, but...
Jerry (a little mockingly). But that's how dreams are crushed, right?
Peter (with irritation). That's not what I wanted to say at all!
Jerry. And you're not going to have any more children?
Peter (absently). No. No more. (When I woke up, I would be annoyed.) How did you find out?
Jerry. Maybe it’s the way you cross your legs, or something in your voice. Or maybe he guessed it by accident. The wife doesn't want it, right?
Peter (furiously). None of your business!
Pause.
Jerry nods. Peter calms down.
Well, that's true. We won't have any more children.
Jerry (soft). This is how dreams fall apart.
Peter (forgiving him for this). Yes... perhaps you're right.
Jerry. Well... What else?
Peter. What were you saying about the zoo... what will I read or see about it?..
Jerry. I'll tell you later. Aren't you angry that I'm asking you questions?
Peter. Oh, not at all.
Jerry. Do you know why I pester you? I rarely have to talk to people, unless you say: give me a glass of beer, or: where is the restroom, or: when does the show start, or: don’t give free rein to your hands, buddy, and so on. In general, you know it yourself.
Peter. Honestly, I don't know.
Jerry. But sometimes you want to talk to a person - to really talk; I want to know everything about him...
Peter (laughs, still feeling awkward). And today your guinea pig is me?
Jerry. On such a thoroughly sunny Sunday afternoon, there is nothing better than talking to a decent married man who has two daughters and... uh... a dog?
Peter shakes his head.
No? Two dogs?
Peter shakes his head.
Hm. No dogs at all?
Peter shakes his head sadly.
Well, this is strange! As far as I understand, you must love animals. Cat?
Peter nods sadly.
Cats! But it can’t be that you did it of your own free will... Wife and daughters?
Peter nods.
Curious, do you have anything else?
Peter (he has to clear his throat). There are... there are two more parrots. ... um ... each daughter has one.
Jerry. Birds.
Peter. They live in a cage in my girls' room.
Jerry. Are they sick with something?.. Birds, that is.
