Feeding Time

Students,

Continuing a spell of creative writing, Teacher has embarked on a project to pen a one-act play. The drama may be submitted to Bangkok Community Theatre's one-act festival if, when drafted a few times, it does not suck. Otherwise the exercise will have just been an interesting problem-solving task.

A one-act play is usually 25 minutes on a single stage set. My original idea was for an innocent conversation between two people which then took a sinister turn and quickly became heated and desperate. The idea evolved from date gone wrong to taxi ride gone wrong to couple meet in Bangkok club (this will also go wrong.) The scenario means I can play with sound and create tension by having a disco beat as constant background. There could also be a lowered lighting state and minor characters around to interrupt the main action / represent the mood.

The script is provisionally titled Feeding Time and its characters are Joe, a mysterious twentysomething who may or may not have ulterior motives for talking to Jess, a 25 year-old English woman who has just moved to Thailand and doesn't even realise how vulnerable that makes her. Below you will find a script extract at a point where the characters step out onto the club balcony for a smoke. This is the first point that Jess notices Joe might be somewhat good-looking. Please read and (kindly) critique if you wish.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Learn your lines.

x Teacher

JOE
Those things will kill you. You know?

(JOE motions to JESS’ cigarette then points at the gruesome picture on the packet.)

JESS
So will a lot of things. What’s your name?

(JESS hands him back his cigar. JOE hands her back her cigarette, waggles the cigar between his teeth, and raises his eyebrows.)

JOE
Hmm. That’s forward. And I believe you’re following polite conversation rules all of a sudden. Living a little?

JESS
Well if the alternative is being killed…

JOE
Ok. But you first lady.

Ladies should always go first.
I hear that’s like the number 1 rule of chivalry.

JESS
It’s Jess.

JOE
A-ha. I’m…

(Suddenly the clubgoers behind them start screaming orgasmically over and over as representation of JESS’s sexualised thoughts. We do not hear JOE say his name and clearly neither does JESS. She nods and pretends to however.)

…Welcome to Bangkok.

(The clubgoers stop and return to dancing normally.)

JESS
Sorry?

JOE
I said ‘Welcome to Bangkok.’

(A spilt-second break in the music before the beat resumes.)

JESS
How do you know that I’m new here?

JOE
Haven’t seen you before.

JESS
Is this the only club in Bangkok?

JOE
Nope.

JESS
And do you know every area of the city and who lives there?

JOE
Nope.

JESS
Then how could you know I’m new here?

JOE
Let’s just say your first impressions gave you away.

JESS
What do you mean?

JOE
Oh I don’t know. The pasty face and sunburned forearms…
The ‘trying too hard to look relaxed’ casual wear…
You’re perspiring quite heavily which suggests you’re not used to the heat…
And you asked the waiter for no ice because you haven’t got over your paranoia about the drinking water yet. What? You look freaked out.

JESS
Uh-huh.

JOE
Why? I’m observant that’s all. Maybe you’re not observant enough.

JESS
How would you know?

JOE
Just sayin’

JESS
I’d say I’m pretty observant.
For instance: You have that shaved head and facial stubble that guys have if they want a rugged look.
But you’re not quite so carefree. That shirt is a label and those jeans were not cheap. Designer underwear no doubt, possibly a shaved chest, and certainly more products in his bathroom cabinet than a tourist like me.

JOE
Well now you’re just generalizing.

JESS
No, I’m not.

JOE
Yes you are. It’s not observant to describe a ‘type’.
You want to see my underwear?

(JOE undoes the top button of his trousers to show a glimpse.)

JESS
You show me yours… (JESS moves to take a look.)
…You’re not wearing any!

(JOE steps away.)

JOE
Really? Where’d they go? (JOE puffs on his cigar.)
…What do you deduct from your observation then?

JESS (Thinking.)
…That you’re cocky.

Doctor Who?

Students,

Ok so attend closely, here is the situation: There is a man and he calls himself The Doctor. That’s it, just The Doctor. Cool, huh? Except this man is not a man at all, he’s an alien from a planet called Gallifrey and is over nine hundred years old. His alien race are called Timelords and they are able to see the whole of time, and manipulate it. They are a good people – or were – because they and their planet perished in an intergalactic time war. This means The Doctor is the last of the Timelords – a lonely god if you will. A glimmer of hope came when he met another whom you might describe as his alter-ego. He was called The Master and he displayed a thirst for power that would lead to his eventual death. The Master was unfortunately slightly bonkers on account of looking into the eye of the time vortex as a junior Timelord on Gallifrey. The Doctor did the same thing but on seeing this infinity was inspired to take a different path as traveler in time and space, helping others with his vast scientific knowledge, outwardly compact and inwardly enormous time machine, and the handy tools of sonic screwdriver and psychic paper. This machine of his is called a TARDIS, meaning ‘Time And Relative Dimension In Space.’ It is actually thought to be more living organism than machine, and it tends to pilot its owner to trouble spots so he can make friends and solve problems. The TARDIS also translates every known language so he can understand those he speaks to. Unfortunately The Doctor’s life is very dangerous, and he is often menaced by a malevolent robot race called Daleks. The Daleks resemble human-sized pepper pots and come from a far-away planet called Skaro. They were created by a physically deformed being called Davros who first programmed them to win a centuries-long battle between the two races on his world. Alas they turned rogue and evolved into killing machines, conquering solar systems and even being responsible for the destruction of Gallifrey. They have gunned down The Doctor before, but as a Timelord, he can avoid death by changing his body into another. This morphic ability is called regenerating. So far in his life he has successfully regenerated at least ten times much to the surprise of traveling companions. These companions have mainly been humans since The Doctor has a fondness for 20-21st Century Earth and its people. He has shown the stars to a number of us (by-and-large young females), yet the curse of an everlasting life does tend to mean that companions come and go; The Doctor cannot be responsible for them as they get older and fail to keep up with the running. Because of this fact The Doctor cuts quite a lonely figure, and you could say his only real companion is death. Of course he tries to have a good time while being courageous, and in his recent past he and his companions have visited with such luminaries as Madame de Pompadour and writers Charles Dickens, Agatha Christie, and Shakespeare. Companion Rose Tyler was the first person since the time war to give The Doctor real hope again, and a romance of sorts developed between the sassy blonde Londoner and the dishy suited alien. However, Rose was to be cut-off from her friend in a tragic twist as they heroically ended a laser fight between Daleks and another robot race called Cybermen. She escaped the fray and lost The Doctor, being transported to a parallel Earth. Post-devastation, Rose took on a role as adviser for Torchwood, a (somewhat) secret organization originally set-up by Queen Victoria (in both worlds) and dedicated to both salvaging alien technology and neutralizing threats from outer space. Also working for this cause are three of The Doctor’s former companions. Captain Jack Harkness is a bisexual flirt from the 51st Century now made indestructible and immortal during rescue from a Dalek attack. He leads an equally sexually experimental team from a secret base beneath the Millennium Building in Welsh capital Cardiff. Torchwood is partially funded by UNIT (Unified Nations Intelligence Taskforce), who are a covert military operation with vast resources stretching to underground bases and a hovering aircraft carrier. Medical doctor Martha Jones is among key UNIT personnel and has a wealth of experience following a travel period with The Doctor. A little older, but no less feisty is Sarah-Jane Smith. Being an investigative reporter she was ideally qualified to accompany The Doctor across two regenerations in the 1970s, and she continues to adventure in his name. Helping her are adopted son Luke, a plucky band of teenage friends, a voice-activated super computer called Mr. Smith, and a robot dog called K-9 who was gifted to her by The Doctor. Rose, Captain Jack, Martha, Sarah-Jane, Torchwood, UNIT etc will soon be called on to aid their friendly Timelord and current companion Donna Noble against the evil forces of Davros and a re-built Dalek army. The return of these enemies spells untold peril for the Earth, and if Davros’ tyrannical plot is anything like the (probably not) final scheme of The Master, more death and desperate time traveling will ensue. The Doctor will no doubt cure all ills, but he himself will be left to resume eternal wandering, sole pilot of a time machine disguised as a wooden blue police box.

Doctor Who is a genius British TV show that began in the mid 1960s and continues today with annual series. Ostensibly a family show it appeals to a sizeable audience because of a creative concept that allows episodes to be either science-fiction, comedic, thrillers, historical, or disjointed in narrative. David Tennant plays the tenth Doctor with great energy, and is joined by some top British actors in scripts by top British writers. Fan w*nk notwithstanding, this Drama Type always enjoys smart writing/acting/directing and can only encourage all impressionable students to seek out this entertainment when not being otherwise entertained in class. Oh, and it's miles better than Lost (snooze.)

Doctor Who is shown first on BBC One around 7pm on Saturday evenings.
Its spin-off shows are Torchwood and The Sarah-Jane Adventures.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Kindly remove the graffiti-ed word ‘nerd’ from your exercise book and start learning. Teacher needs a companion – cyber geeks excluded – to gush about sonic screwdrivers and not appear crazed… ‘A’ on offer??

x Teacher

Picture Post - Out & About

Students,

I’ve been talking a lot about the social mores of Bangkok, but often words cannot do justice to the exciting times your devoted Teacher enjoys when not in class. Therefore I will stop talking and let you once more nosily peruse some snaps from my photo album. Below you will see another saucy image from my recent drama collaboration as well as assorted friends, lovers, and crazy colleagues.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Hit the town.

x Teacher

Drama at the Disco

Students,

Some of you may have heard the rumours and the whispers in the streets of my return to the bosom of theatre. Yes sweetie darlings, the Drama Type is returned. Last Saturday night I trod the boards (or the dancefloor at least) in a piece I described as ‘expressive movement’ and some less-inclined teacher friends described as ‘a lot of posing and arm-waving…’ It is always a joy when colleagues heap platitudes on that which you are secretly rather proud of. Sigh. Sarcasm aside, the experience was most enjoyable. I had a great time, and a creative burst now and again is always welcome.

The venue was Luminous Bar, a three-floor club space in central gay town, Bangkok. The company was New City Collective, an assortment of artistes (no sniggering) from our native English-speaking community and led by a Mr. Jesuino. The party was organized by Trasher, a hippyish Thai troupe with whom I’d experienced an earlier night of colourful disco. And the piece itself was a devised work based around the party’s theme of Alice in Wonderland. It was non-speaking, lasted five minutes, and was set to a mash-up of trippy music.

Our group of five actors / ‘expressive movers’ began rehearsing over the few weekday evenings prior to the show. The drama ideas came thick and fast: larger-than-life physicality! Alice as a goth! Puppetry! …Yes, the dreaded ‘P’ word. Along with the dreaded ‘D’ word (dissertation) this did not make for whoops of joy from Teacher whom some of you may recall had to be coerced off a window ledge after choosing this topic for a university paper. My panic subsided however when, after one pained evening spent clutching a craft knife amid a mountain of polystyrene (‘styrofoam’ as I learned Canadians choose to call it), the looming ‘Queen of Hearts’ puppet was assembled and painted without my assistance. Mercifully I was also spared the operating of the thing save for helping to manouvere Mr. Jesuino who found himself groping around in the dark with his head up its skirt and his hands on its control rod.

My role turned out to be one of three hench persons trying to catch Goth Alice. We hunted her with a large white sheet hung from a bamboo rod. By dramatically rolling and unrolling the sheet we trapped her, spun her, and otherwise dazzled our club audience in a feast of fluorescent fancy! But the section of the piece that I found the most ‘real’ was when we hench persons began a choreographed routine with builders hard hats. This section was ostensibly to allow Goth Alice to hide under the Queen of Hearts’ skirt and change her outfit from black to white, but I think it was a remarkable coordination of efforts that channeled the best in YMCA glamour.

Witness the glorious pictures below and roll on the next show. The Drama Type is back... Sweetie darlings!!

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Dig out your spandex for a class routine.

x Teacher

Post X - Superego and the Superhero

Students,

A wise man once said that it’s sometimes beneficial to look back in order to go forward. That wise man was me. Unlocking the mysteries of Teacher’s mind is not what this blog is about, but skimming the surface and pricking one’s Ego is. As you now know, I used to be a Drama Type. During this eclectic period I came across many versatile techniques to get to the bottom of top-heavy questions. Such troubling questions included How come my body reacts orgasmically to the taste of a pitted olive? and Why must the show go on? The techniques for answering included downing a quart of r*m, poking a lot of b*m, and smoking some p*t for fun. Another proven (by Ms. Tabbayabbadingdoo) method was ‘Emotion Memory.’ Simply put, this involved using one’s Superego to feel your way around your past. For certain Drama Types this resulted in a bit of staring into the middle distance while whispering about a beloved pet hamster that passed on while also forcing a single tear to roll down the cheek. For others, the Superego produced some decidedly juicy gems. It just depended on the question…

As example of the above, I asked Superego a question earlier (leaving the other two headspace-occupiers out for this blog) and was surprised by an answer that may have far-reaching consequences for the future. May. The question: Whom was your first schoolboy crush? Students, in order for you to picture me in those student days I may tell you that I was the dog’s bollocks (English: pretty nifty) at dressing. I also moved with the times when it came to my looks. I moved from shellsuit --> repressed Christian --> hippy --> club boy --> goth (briefly) --> hollow-cheeked ‘artist’ --> Mulder from X-Files --> James Dean ‘rebel’ --> scarf-wearing Drama Type. Now I had thought the answer to this first crush question was very simple: Captain Kirk. But no, ‘Emotion Memory’ has finally revealed more. I would like Superego to explain in his usually insightful way:

Superego: As you know I do not swing both ways on the wills of men, “I will, I will, I will” is usually my answer (especially if Id is involved.) You might say I am as firm as the hand of God. But there are some who cause a stumble in my step. These types often have that special something, and as an impressionable pre-pubescent there was always one superhero whom I thought had it all. Step aside Captain Kirk for I would like to introduce another 60s icon, Captain Scarlet. As you can see from his picture, Scarlet is everything you could wish for in a man. He is a full 20 inches in length, is hard like wood, and blank of stare. His strings can be pulled any way you want, and he will never have a pissed off expression. Because he only has one expression. In addition Scarlet has a faux Cary Grant British monotone and his first name is Paul. He can be manipulated into operating any kind of heavy machinery, and he retains a stiff upper lip in a crisis. There is a reason for this however. The thing separating him from all other superheroes is that he is indestructible… You could turn a machine gun on him or blast him into space but he’d still come back, perfectly sanded-down and head screwed on. What a guy!

I’m not sure if what I wanted was to do Scarlet or be Scarlet. Doing Scarlet would mean I’d first have to sever his ties with Destiny Angel (hair of copper wire and voice of French polish) and his boy toy Captain Blue (all chiseled features though a bit of a plank.) I’d also have to hammer into shape his arch-enemies The Mysterons (think Stephen Hawking meets malevolent flashlight.) But it would all be worth it. Even the risk of splinters. To hold in my (one) hand that moral compass. On the (other) hand, being Scarlet would insure me against all manner of mishaps… I could race into compromising situations with spunk and vigour, most de rigeur in the knowledge of my phoenix-like triumph... To muse on these notions is good for the soul and Superego is happy using ‘then’ to find the answers to how in the ‘now.’ Though this Drama Type does not have a ‘Type’, that same Scarlet Type was found… One beloved ex was noticeably short, had jet black hair, heavy eyelids, could come off as plastic, and always came back no matter what… Ouch!* Be a man, Myster(on) man.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Show me a gay superhero, geek!

* Seems after my catty comments above, the beloved ex in question is having the last laugh and is engaged. Congratulations! ...Gays getting married, whatever next?

x Teacher

Post II – Drama Types

Students,

Many of you may not know that I have had a ‘life in the theatre’. Yes I know. It’s true I was a Drama type. You could not tell, could you? Nowadays not a hint of flamboyance, not a single colourful sock in sight. But back then the world was different. England and Scotland were creative havens populated by kings and MANY more queens for whom the words “Turn down the lights, turn on the Commedia del’ Arte! Darling” would induce un-scripted orgasmic explanations to be quoted and remembered by an impressionable generation. Or something like that. So now this very blog pays homage to a homo’s icons of inspiration, elites of education, advocates of arse-licking. Ok, you get the picture. Now read this (affectionate) run-down from past -> present of id / ego / superego for a few Drama nutters. Some names changed for identifying purposes. Beware: like Harry Potter things go from cutesy to just plain scary. And the wicked witch is last.

5 or d
(i-s-c-o.) May-chelle
Most likely to exclaim:
“What happens outside the stage door stays outside the stage door ” (before launching into an uncomfortable emotional monologue about her personal life.)

Id.
Floaty scarf, pretty flowers, Strawberry Fields Forever. I love the nancy boy – shine a light on him! Hair up. Hair down. Hair clip. Wig. Head scarf.
Ego.
Oh darling I must acquire that patterned scarf so that I can float the school corridors with theatrical aplomb and flick it back over my shoulder as a character gesture symbolizing the shrugging-off of conformity. Oh my oh me I am the Ophelia child with student babes around me! I will inspire worship and devotion in my fairy follower by smiling as he wears long trenchcoats and make-up, and forcing a single rolling tear as he sticks the plastic knife to his heart. In every play in every lesson. Again and again.
Superego.
Shall I stay or go? Go. Gone.* Never forgotten…
* English mourns. Canada got her. Canadians suck. Cock.

4. On the floor. The Ram-age
Most likely to proclaim:
“I played Richard in Dumfries when you were still. An. Egg.”

Id.
Sex bomb. Sex bomb. You’re a sex bomb. Girls. Bard. Titties. Baaaaarrrdd. “Oeeeedipus. Rex.”
Ego.
Ego, moi?
Superego.
Like Hamlet I give myself over to it. That’s all. It’s a gift. Everytime. I feel it. I live it. It consuuumes me.

* The Ram-age wore hearing aids but a bigger problem was his blindness. Never once did he notice our group locking Erica in a room while playing ‘murder in the dark’, and on one particularly memorable rehearsal day he failed to realize that while he’d stepped out, Zainab had turned on the fire extinguisher, soaked the stage floor, and caused Alison a rather nasty mishap resulting in a bruised coccyx and her having to dry her crotch on the heater in a most suggestive manner.

3. Some. Ms. Tabbayabbadingdoo. The best Drama name. Ever. (Pseudonym close enough.)
Most likely to breathe: “The art liveth!! ”

Id.
Experiment. Evolve. Enlighten. Envisage. Anybody got anymore ‘E’s?
Ego.
What I want, easily gotten. Speak very slowly. Speak very quietly. Enunciate. R.P. darling. First open eyes wide then narrow eyes as if it’s like real deep. Word. Nod sagely with finger on chin. Only wear black, Greek widow black. When applauding always shake head from side to side and mutter something… even if you didn’t know what the f*ck that sh*t was all about.
Superego.
Right and wrong? The choice. The concept. The happening. The space. Physicality. Improvise. Adjectives. Go with it. Be IT!!!

­2. b or not 2. b. Ian The Shithead
Most likely to like lie: “ I dinnae ken ya wee rab” (“I don’t know guv’nor”)

Id.
­Ok. Priorities: Turn up, shake some hands like, perv on favourite male students. Avoid students who want to ask a question like about their degree thing-y. Oh! Call Scottish theatre bigwigs and schmooze like. Give a highly vague lecture and never fully give an opinion like ‘cos it’s all bullcrap really like… shhhh!!
Ego.
Ego? I’m a Scotsman. Yeah, right, use the accent. Yeah the brogue like. But lay it on thick like ‘cos then you sound down with the kids. Oh and chew gum always. Use the hands too like. And the arms like. And occasionally fling yourself violently around like to show that even though you haven’t got an opinion you are ‘feeling’ the drama. Like. And good one: if they start answering and making sense just get uncomfortably close to their face like and use YOUR face to squint, raise eyebrows up and down alarmingly, and move eyes left to right right to left. Backs ‘em off and works every time like.
Superego.
Right and wrong. It’s like all about the politics y’know. I used to do political theatre I know this shit like. They’re above you watching always like. It’s fuck or be fucked. Fuck ‘em up and fuck off. Ahem. Hands. Arms. Body. Gum. Brogue.

* (Yet) another issue with the above is the inadvertent slip that led to him christening me with a new nickname… ‘Pops’.

1. Love.
1. Hate. Lock
Most likely to bellow:
“The little fuckers aren’t doing a musical while I’m at the school!!!!!!!! ”

* What to say? Her often-downright evil machinations were sometimes a joy to behold especially as she picked off the weakest (and most square) members of the pack first with a sharp tongue-lashing or an eye roll. But you always knew she would get to you eventually. Or at the very least project her own ruthless competitiveness onto you, her victims, by turning friends against each other and intimidating others into sharing illegal gossip about who was getting-off with who. And she was a Nazi about paperwork. When she started to move towards you, speak in her baby voice, and call you some nickname you knew your days were numbered and the teaching fun was ending. And then it did. And the worst thing is it’s not over. I must return at some point in 2009 to face the Lock once more. Alone. And defenseless…

Id.
I am always on top. In life and in lov- Oh wait lov- No can’t say that word. Too bad. Yes I ride and I whip and my horse knows too well that if you try throwing me you get a damn good thrashing. Simple. I’m Lock. I AM the Drama. And I will write you a tragic conclusion if you cross me.
Ego.
What? Ego. No ego. No need. I do it and I get it. No-one will stop me. Not even brats with mentalist issues can knock me back. The ego is vain and I don’t have time. You do what I say and it’s your mind not mine that I’m interested in.
Superego.
I’m right. You’re wrong. Anymore questions? Hmmm?

There you have it. A lesson in life from the business of show. What a new concept. Yup yup yup sweetie yup.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Drama teacher memories. It’s good to share the dysfunction.

Air kisses x Teacher