This is a final copy of my working script for my show.
You’re not from New York City, You’re from Rotherham.
Pre-set:
The stage is set out with the feel and look of a construction site. Track 1 – Smile is playing. There is a small brick wall set out in the centre of the space – it is lit with a spotlight. When the audience are seated – Track 1 – Smile fades out. A bucket turned on its head to one side and another filled with cement to the other – a trowel is sticking handle first out of the cement. A man carrying some sandwiches and a cup of tea walks in to the space in builder’s attire: yellow hard hat, high visibility jacket, workers jeans/trousers and a pair of steel toe capped boots. He sits down and continues eating.
Show:
Walking in to the space – eating a sandwich.
Don’t mind me. I’ll start in a second. Just having a break.
He finishes his sandwich, takes another swig of his brew.
Ah! Right then best get on with this.
He puts the mug down and continues building the wall.
I wasn’t meant to be doing something like this. I actually wanted to be an actor and I’m gonna tell you the story of that. In fact, I’m gonnna tell you a good ol’ story about three Billy’s who needed to escape from the background they came from. And I chose acting.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I studied for it. GCSE, A-level and even a degree. I’ve never been handed down anything in this life, but it wasn’t until I reached A-level that I decided I really wanted to do it.
As the performer begins to say these lines, he takes his hard-hat off and begins to wrap a scarf around his head.
I played this old bird called Madame Arcati, medium she was, this clairvoyant weirdo who went with whatever she wanted to. In many respects, she was a lot like me – outgoing, outspoken and a bit of an outsider. I remember playing her – in this big ol’ dress with a stupid turban on. A fucking turban like. I felt like a right dick, but then I walked on stage and forgot all about that. (Track 2 – Show Business begins to play.)
He appears from behind the wall and starts to mimic Madame Arcati’s mannerisms and speeches talking to the audience as he does.
Hello! I’ve leant my bike up against that little bush it will be perfectly alright as long as no one touches it. I’m afraid I’m rather late; but I had a sudden presentiment that I was going to have a puncture so I went back to fetch my pump.
And then of course, I didn’t have a puncture at all.
Going over to a member of the audience.
Doctor Bradman! The man with the gentle hands.
Coming out of Madame Arcati’s character. Becoming himself again.
And that was her. And yes, it was camp. All it needed was for me to chuck mi shoes away and start a rendition of I Am What I Am.
The defining moment though, was when she was possessed by the ethereal spirit she used for her séances called Daphne and I remember doing it and having to chant the same line over and over again.
Resorts back to Arcati.
Little Tommy Tucker sings for his supper. Little Tommy Tucker sings for his supper. Little Tommy Tucker sings for his supper. Little Tommy Tucker sings for his supper.
AH!
Returning to himself.
And that was Arcati, (Track 2 – Show Business fades out.) and performing her made me realise that I wanted to act. Which is weird when you come from my background. I come from Rotherham, South Yorkshire. I grew up in a working class town and as we all know, we’re no strangers to oppression or injustice. I grew up on the aftermath of the Thatcher/Major administration, we’re all tradesman or ex-miners. The only famous people coming out of Rotherham are Howard Webb, referee. David Seaman the Goalkeeper and the fuckin’ Chuckle brothers. We’re kind of brainwashed in to believing that whatever ambition we have is pointless because we should all be labourers.
Before Arcati, me dad didn’t exactly seem overjoyed about me wanting to pursue drama. In fact, he hated it. Always going on about how [in the likeness of his father] “why would you wanna do drama. There’s no money in it. Why don’t you go in to a proper trade?”
He changed his mind once he’d seen me act, doing the thing all dads do when you’re good at something. [Likeness of father] “he got ‘is talent from me, you know?”
My story, in many ways, reminds me of Billy Elliot. We both came from underprivileged working class backgrounds up north, we both wanted to go in to the arts and we both had mining fathers who disapproved until they finally saw our talent.
Picks up a bucket, goes over to an audience member. Puts the bucket over his head. In the likeness of Billy Elliot’s Dad.
“Ballet! Fuckin’ Ballet. It’s for girls. Boys do boxing.”
Hands the bucket to an audience member – gets on one knee. In the likeness of Billy Elliot.
“It’s not all for girls you know! What about that Wayne Sleep? He’s as fit as an athlete.”
Takes the bucket back – puts back on head and stands up. Elliot’s Dad
“Wayne fuckin’ Sleep”
Himself
I could’ve been like Billy Elliot to be fair. A dancer.
Track 3 – Elliot plays. Begins to mimic the Billy’s dance in the sports hall – badly, with bucket in hand banging as though it’s a drum. When the performer kicks his feet in front of him and begins panting – Track 3 – Elliot fades out.
I always thought it were brilliant how he stood up to his dad in that sports hall. Flicking his heels and staring ‘im dead in eyes. Although I know I can’t exactly dance – never really could. I just thought I might be able to.
Continues building the wall.
It wasn’t meant to be like this really. I could’ve done it, yeah. If I’d had only believe in myself. I remember doing Site-Specific Performance in 2nd year. What a load of shite that turned out to be. Listen to this right, I built shelves and got a 2:1. SHELVES FOR FUCKS SAKE. And now here I am… again. Jesus Christ man. Shite fucking specific… all over again… Who knows, I might get a 1st this time.
To be honest with ya I’m just happy I had a chance, you know? I had a chance to be free for 3 years. To do what I want… and it felt good. Really fucking good, like flying…
Speaking of flying, and ol’ birds. Kes. Barry Hines and Kes.
A proper Yorkshire man’s story, a proper story about ambition within the working classes.
Billy fuckin’ Casper mate and his bird Kes. A Kestral.
And there’s a speech in there about letting the bird free and it made me think of when I first performed in front of mi dad. I love it. I loved performing and I felt free. And Casper probably describes it best.
Puts on a glove, picks up a stuffed bird – an owl.
Bear with it.
What he did was he was scared to let his bird fly free for the first time. He takes it down to field one day because he knows he’s gotta do it and he says: [Casper’s likeness] “I wake up and I think right, if she flies off, she flies off, and it can’t be helped.” And he’s scared, you know? But he needs to do it so he just belts up and says: [Casper] “Gu on Kes, Gu on then.”
Track 4 – Hero plays. Throws the stuffed bird towards audience.
And it flies off, and comes back. Because he’d trained it. And the story isn’t about a bird – fuck the bird, man – it’s about growing up in Yorkshire, in Barnsley and adapting to life, finding a way to get through it.
Returning to himself and continuing building the wall.
And that’s it. (Track 4 – Hero fades out) I could’ve done it but I just didn’t. What more can you do? I defied my own past and got into university. I could’ve done something and I could’ve been…
Well, we’ll never know.
Continues building the wall until completion.
Right, Finished.
Goes around the side of the wall – looks at it.
Another time, eh?
The lights go down as the performer leaves the space. Simultaneously, Track 5 – Fake Tales begins to play as the audience leave.
