Hamlet 2000

Act Two

Scene One

(CLAUDIUS' STUDY)

SCENE ONE:

 DIM DIM LIGHT. CLAUDIUS IS LYING ASLEEP ON HIS DESK. HE IS WEARING THE

SINGLET AND PYJAMA PANTS AS BEFORE, BUT OVER THEM HE WEARS AN

UNBUTTONED TRENCH COAT. HE IS COVERED WITH PAPERS AND APPEARS

DEAD. SUDDENLY HE STARTS TO BREATHE DEEPLY. HE ROLLS OVER,

HUNCHES HIMSELF UP, GROANS AND FALLS OFF THE DESK. HE CRAWLS OVER

TO A WASTE PAPER BASKET AND VOMITS INTO IT. HE DRAGS HIMSELF BACK

ONTO THE DESK AND LIES FACE UP BREATHING DEEPLY.

      ENTER HAMLET AND HORATIO ON TIPTOES. THEY APPROACH CLAUDIUS AND

SOFTLY RECITE THE FAMOUS SHAKESPEAREAN SPEECH...)

      HAMLET:

      To be

            or

      not to be

      HORATIO:

      That is the question

      HAMLET:

      Whether 'tis  nobler

      HORATIO:

      in the mind

      HAMLET:

      to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

      HORATIO:

      or to take arms against a sea of troubles

      HAMLET:

      and by opposing them

      HORATIO:

            end them

      ( PAUSE. THEY LIFT CLAUDIUS' HEAD UP AND START STUFFING BITS OF

KIPPERS INTO HIS MOUTH. )

      HAMLET:

      To die

      HORATIO:

      To sleep

      HAMLET:

      To sleep!

      Perchance to dream

      HORATIO:

      Ay

      There's the rub

      HAMLET:

      and conscience makes cowards of us all

      HORATIO:

      To be or not to be

      HAMLET:

      The question

      HORATIO:

      In the mind

      ( HAMLET SMEARS KIPPERS OVER THE SLEEPING CLAUDIUS)

      HAMLET:

      Oh

      that this too too sordid flesh

      would melt

      thaw

      and resolve itself

      into a dew

      ( HAMLET DRAWS A KNIFE AND HOLDS IT POISED TO CHOP. CLAUDIUS SITS UP

SCREAMING. HAMLET AND HORATIO DISAPPEAR. CLAUDIUS LIFTS HIMSELF

GROANING OFF THE DESK BUT COLLAPSES. HE LIFTS HIMSELF AGAIN, TURNS

ON A LAMP AND PULLS HIMSELF INTO A CHAIR BESIDE THE DESK. HE OPENS

A DRAW, PULLS OUT A BOTTLE OF WHISKY, POURS HIMSELF A DRINK AND

THEN THROWS IT DOWN HIS THROAT.)

      CLAUDIUS:

      What dreams are they?

      Kippers

(HE POURS HIMSELF MORE WHISKY AND DRINKS)

      Soon the revenge

      and then the end

      First theirs and then mine

      our ends

      wished for

      willed

      to escape this miserable existence

      of kippers

(HE PICKS UP ONE OF THE NOTES OFF THE DESK AND BEGINS TO READ IT TO

HIMSELF. WHEN HE FINISHES HE ADDRESSES THE AUDIENCE AGAIN)

      A life's work

      A life's agony

      This life of the desk has been agony

      This constant exploration

      this digging

      Digging into the abyss

      Writing is an abysmal excavation

      We go further and further away from the light with each jolt of the spade

      with each stroke of the pick

(HE REACHES FOR A CIGARETTE LIGHTER & BURNS THE NOTE IN HIS HAND,

DROPPING IT INTO THE WASTE-PAPER BASKET)

      A miner in need of a cave-in

(PAUSE

HE POURS HIMSELF ANOTHER DRINK. TAKES A SIP.

HE OPENS THE DRAW AND TAKES OUT A TAPE RECORDER AND A

MICROPHONE. HE PLUGS THE MICROPHONE INTO THE RECORDER, TURNS THE

RECORDER ON AND TALKS INTO THE MICROPHONE.)

      I Claudius

      being of sound mind and body

      sounder than I've been for a long time and as sound as I'll ever be

      fully conscious of the fact that I am moribund

      that within twenty four hours I will be dead

      killed by the habitual consumption of foul kippers

      day in day out

      putrid

      rotting

      stinking

      kippers

      This is my last will and testament

      my last decree

      I

      who have never decreed anything

      and now

      have nothing left to decree

      I have destroyed everything

      or am in the process of it

      by tomorrow

      there will be nothing left

      not here

      Now

      there are still fragments

      but tomorrow there will be nothing

      Just this

      the remains of a life work

      of a life's agony

      This life has been an agony

      a great waste 

      time and energy

      Life is a waste of time and energy

      We measure it

      waste it

      for what?

      So they can insult us

      So we can insult them

      Abuse

      Day in

      day out

      One long string

      Biting words that do nought

      say nought

      No matter how much we talk

      No matter how much we write

      However florid

      However rich or poor is our syntax

      verse or prose

      Tautology or absolute lucidity

      it all amounts to the same

(HE OPENS THE DRAWER AND TAKES OUT A KIPPER AND EATS IT BEFORE

TAKING ANOTHER DRINK, THIS TIME STRAIGHT FROM THE BOTTLE)

      Who ever reads us the way we should be read?

      If read we are forever misinterpreted

      misunderstood

      failures

      We are all failures

      Trying to express the intangible

      we make the profound mundane

      Always and every time

      The harder we try the more mundane it always becomes

      The more we are liked

      the more mundane we

      our work

      becomes

      Melancholy nostalgic creatures

      trying to express a universe that we feel but do not understand

      We try to express ourselves

      but we never understand ourselves

      will never understand ourselves

      and the deeper we go the more and more we must suffer

      We fall into the abyss

      painful

      There is nothing colder

      There is nothing which bites us

      chews

      ruminates upon our gizzards

      as the abyss within

      Bottomless

      Our only hope is the end

(HE TURNS OFF THE TAPE RECORDER AND TAKES ANOTHER DRINK FROM THE

BOTTLE.

HE OPENS THE DRAW AGAIN AND TAKES OUT A MAGNETIC CHESS SET

ALREADY SET UP FOR THE OPENING MOVE AND A NEWSPAPER CUTTING OF A

MATCH.)

      Spasski white

      Fischer black

      Fischer was an arsehole genius

(PAUSE.

HE STUDIES THE MOVES ON THE NEWSPAPER CUTTING)

      Like Mozart

      would have been unbearable to live with

      who could have put up with him

      the arsehole genius

      They all are

      child prodigies

      arseholes

(PAUSE)

      Pawn to Queen four

      Black pawn to queen four

(PAUSE)

      Chess has been called a  war game

      and this description is

      at the outset

      a useful one

      Pawn to queen's bishop four

      Black pawn

      Fischer's pawn

      takes white pawn

      Spasski's pawn

      at queen's bishop four

(PAUSE

HE DRINKS)

      Why bother?

      I ask myself

      it all ends in a stalemate

      How many times

      always the same result?

      Stalemate

      Karp and Kasp were famous for their stalemates as well

      And the match went on for six days!

      For what?

      So that B and C could bat out the innings and force a draw

      Is that all there is

      not even a damned wicket

      Goddammit

      White knight to king's bishop three

      Black knight to king's bishop three

      Over and over the same strategy

      The possibilities are finite

      mathematics proves that

      A real genius would know it

(PAUSE)

      Do you know that our dear Hamlet was incapable of learning one single simple move

on the chess board

      and they called him a gifted child

      but he knew nothing of either chess or music

      Mathematics was way beyond him

      What do you think of that then?

      Our Hamlet

      an arsehole

      And when Spasski moved his pawn to king three Fischer moved his pawn to king three

      a genius?

      An arse hole

      It took them sixty-one moves to agree on the futility of it

      It's taken me sixty-one years to understand what I have to do

(HE PUTS THE CHESS BOARD BACK IN THE DRAW. LIGHTS FADE)

END OF ACT TWO: SCENE ONE

GO TO Scene Two of Act Two OF HAMLET 2000

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