Out to Lunch

FullScore

BassClarinet inBb

TrumpetinBb

Shopkeeper (Mezzo-Soprano)

Customer1 (High)

Customer2 (Low)

Customer3 (Low)

Marbles (Baritone)

Accordion

OuttoLunch

MusicbyPierreFlasse

Librettowrittenby TomDrewandPierreFlasse

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THETRANSIT

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THECONTROLLEDIMPROVARGUMENT-Part2

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Out to Lunch

Libretto by Tom Drew

[A shop of indeterminate age. Laid out like an old-school chemist or sweetshop. No shelves or aisles for the customers – the kind of shop with bottles on shelves behind a little wooden counter, where the shopkeeper has to go into the back-room for things. The shopkeeper in question (S.) is wearing an annoying hat – not important what else, or what kind of hat. It’s just annoying. Items on counter/shelves are fairly normal: bread, milk, chocolate bars, something with tentacles, a single shoe, a bottle emblazoned with the word ‘Worry’. There is a short (I’m thinking about 4-5ft) cardboard cut-out of Michael Jordan in the middle of the floor. A man (M.) is on the floor. Maybe he’s just lying down or maybe he’s frantically looking for something, maybe he’s looking in amongst the audience too.. He’s singing about marbles. The shopkeeper doesn’t ever acknowledge that he’s there. The way I’m thinking about it, M. is the main character. This is the story we’re actually following - a man losing and looking for his marbles. It’s important that this isn’t over-emphasised though; I like a sort of message that “the people who are making the most noise aren’t necessarily the people you should be looking at” - seems appropriate in recent years. I’m putting in gender pronouns more or less at random for characters]

[The first customer enters: he’s wearing one shoe. On his hand. He’s barefoot. He nods to S., who nods back, and walks up to the counter. He scrutinises the items thereon, except for the shoe.]

Customer 1 (C1.): Hello, madam, and a good morning! Have you an elk? Mine own have I mislaid and I’m afraid for my image should I have to wine and dine without an elk.

S: [Giving the customer a completely blank look. She has no idea how to process the question] I think. I think you may have the wrong… [She can’t quite seem to finish the thought.Where would you even buy an elk? NB. Maybe she isn’t singing at this point?]

C1: For shame, good woman! Your reticence to serve deserves a Johnson definition! Where are your stables?

S: Our stables are… [she starts to point vaguely towards the back of the shop but catches herself and shakes her head, confused.] We don’t have any elk. Elks? Elk.

C1: But surely you jest…?

S: I fear I do no… Erm, I mean… No, I’m serious. Why would we? I thi nk I’m missing something here.

C1: I had heard talk of backward ways, of waifs and strays, non -reflecting of fashion nor aroused by the passions of higher society. Poor thing. Have you at least a kennel? A menagerie?

S: I think there’s a pet shop down the road but I don’t know if they’d stretch to an elk. [S. starts to think she’s misunderstood the whole situation.] Or a butcher further down…?

C1: Madam! That you could suggest such a travesty! You disgust me.

M: [raucous, abrupt. Sort of joyful delirium, turning to abject despair (probably easier to show this with body language)] Marbles! (continues loudly at first, fading to a mumble).

C1. [after a pause] Well how about renting…?

[C2. enters, out of breath, flustered]

C2: Excuse me, madam, if I intrude but I must ask of you a favour. Can y ou find it in yourself to allow me the use of your phone? There has been an incident and I must contact the authorities.

S: [hesitant, a bit taken aback by C2’s manner] Well, yes, of course. What’s happened? Is there anything I can do?

C2: There’s been a robbery. A brazen, broad-daylight burglary. I was set upon. By a gang of flattened miscreants.

S: Are you hurt? What was taken? [bustles towards phone/looks around behind counter. Pauses.] Wait. Flattened?

C2: Flattened! Not an inch thick. A scandal.

S: I’m afraid I may have misunderstood. What exactly happened to you?

C2: I was bound for my accountant, a long-standing appointment, I’m overdue for a shave [or haircut]. As I strode along the pavement, past the grocer’s with its awnings, I was ambushed by a cardboard Michael Winner and his papier-mache thugs.

S: Cardboard…

C2: Please, madam, the constabulary!

S: What…what did they take?

C2: My coat and hat, my finery, my pride. My innocence. And a handkerchief. [S. looks C2. up and down. They are still wearing quite a fine hat and coat. S. backs away slowly.]

[C3. enters. Maybe C2. bends over and C3. leapfrogs them.]

C3: [to C2.] My god! Someone has stolen your coat and hat!

C2: Michael Bloody Winner!

C3: A scandal.

[Casually, to S.] I’m here to charter a yacht. [To C2.] Have you phoned the police?

C2: I’d asked, but the young lady here seems reluctant.

S: Sorry, a yacht? We don’t sell yachts…

C3. I don’t want to buy one, I want to charter. And please phone th e police - this [man] has been wronged!

S: But I don’t understand. [He]’s wearing [his] hat and coat. He must have taken a knock to the head. Or…have I? I’ll call an ambulance.

C1. and C3: Madam, he’s perfectly sane!

C2. [in unison with C1. and C3.]: Madam, I’m perfectly sane!

[Things start to break down a bit here, characters start singing across each other and I think things are starting to get a bit dark and weird. I kind of think that they should repeat a few of the lines here, maybe loop it - a bit of a pisstake of the standard high-opera trick of having everyone standing round in a room near the end, singing exposition at each other. Entries could be left open as an improvisational opportunity. Marbles’ searching has become less frantic, more ordered and ‘normal’: any improvised utterances/movements to be more refined and less wild.]

S: Is this some sort of a joke? Should I be looking for a camera? Ple ase, it’s nearly time for me to close the shop. I need to find my way home. This wasn’t even supposed to be my shift, I swapped it with Gary [name entirely optional].

C1: [looking genuinely cut up at his inability to procure an elk] I had thought of my request as but a simple one. But to proffer as a solution the local butcher. Whatever shall I do? Society turns a cruel shoulder. To whom can I appeal at this, my most desperate hour?

C2: Not even an inch thick. Beset by gangsters who could hide behind lamp-posts. A swarming mob of critics and aficionados feeding on pride and fine overclothes. We must inform the proper authorities, the perpetrators must be called to account.

M: Maaarrbles. I wonder if… Marbles. Is that…

C3: A yacht I have not. I have not a yacht. Amongst things I have got, a yacht is not. But whence pleasure boats on a middle-manager’s salary? To charter is my only option, yet even that seems out of my grasp. How else to sail away from sedentary malaise?

[They gradually start to come out of this muddled chaos section into a kind of sparse, dislocated argument. Not a lot of structure to it - good sense of space, but characters sometimes singing over each other]

C1: Can you truly not offer us aid, madam? Any of us?

S: I don’t understand what you expect of me. I’m simply not equipped.

C3: Are we then to drift, without resolution?

C2: Something needs to happen!

S: But why should it be me?

[Pause. Outro.]

S: Why should it be my job?

C1: Society will reject me, society must protect…

C3: I have paid my dues and worked hard. I was led to believe that that deserved reward.

C2: Why should I have to fear the indignity of personal attack purely for walking in a public place.

[Everyone starts to peter out, looking a little lost.]

M: [Stands up out of nowhere, holding little pouch. Contented.] Ah. Marbles.