Anna Christie
4/5
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Eugene O'Neill
Eugene O’Neill was an American playwright and Nobel laureate. His poetically titled plays were among the first to introduce into the US the drama techniques of realism, earlier associated with international playwrights Anton Chekhov, Henrik Ibsen, and August Strindberg. The tragedy Long Day’s Journey into Night is often numbered on the short list of the finest US plays in the twentieth century, alongside Tennessee Williams’s A Streetcar Named Desire and Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman.
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Reviews for Anna Christie
3 ratings2 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Full cast recording was marvelous & really helped me with O'Neill's written accents.Cast"Johnny-the-priest": NullifidianFirst Longshoreman/Voice: jwgSecond Longshoreman/Johnson: Marty KrisPostman: Max KorlingeLarry: Matthew ReeceChris Christopherson: Lars RolanderMarthy Owen: Pat RedstoneAnna Christopherson: Elizabeth KlettMat Burke: Tadhg HynesNarrator: David Goldfarb
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5This American play, written in 1921, was one of two little Eugene O'Neill volumes that I decided to read back to back. The first scene opens with Chris Christopherson, more commonly known as "Old Chris," relaxing at a pub, and telling fellow drinkers and friends about his daughter, Anna Christie, who is coming to visit him. Chris hasn't seen his daughter since she was two years old, which was 15 years ago. Chris' ex-wife was driven mad by her husband's occupation as a sailor, and came to hate the sea and any men having anything to do with it. And so, long ago, she took their child and moved to a safely landlocked state. Now, Anna is coming to visit her father for the first time, and he isn't at all sure what to expect or how to act.Anna arrives in town just a few pages later, strolling into the same local pub that her father has just exited. Her father, knowing that Anna's mother will have brought her up to loathe the sea, has lied to her and told her that he is a janitor, but it doesn't take very long for Anna to discover that in reality, her father is captain of a coal barge. The scene ends with her being horrified, and vowing that she will never stay with her father if it means living on the water.When the next scene opens, apparently some time has passed, and Anna seems to be taking to sea life very well. She is enamored by the sea, and loves to simply stand on the deck for hours taking in the water, the fog, and the salty air. Chris, rather than being pleased, does all he can to rid his daughter of this enchantment, doing his best to portray the ocean and sailors in the worst light possible.Shortly after, a marooned sailor is rescued from the water and brought aboard the ship. The man, whose name is Burke, takes an immediate fancy to Anna, but it isn't until she sends him sprawling over the deck with a good punch (for flirting) that he falls in love.Anna, though she has similar feelings, is plagued by her knowledge that nothing can ever work out between she and Burke, due to her past as a prostitute.This play had an interesting enough storyline to keep me reading, and I finished it quickly in one sitting. The characters are all simple, realistic people that you can easily imagine as people - whether on a stage or in real life. And because the play is relatively short, O'Neill doesn't waste any time moving from one scene to another.I found the underlying character of the sea interesting: Chris, a man of the sea himself, apparently agrees with his ex-wife's sentiments about its evil. Though he has held some respectable ranks as captain and bosun on other vessels before, he is ashamed rather than proud of these accomplishments, and is agonized when he hears his daughter boasting about them. Rather than be happy that Anna discovers a love for the sea, he is horrified. He tells her dark tales of people being drowned, terrible storms, and portrays all sailors as duplicitous, unscrupulous scoundrels. Most of all, he warns her against marrying a sailor, who he says will only leave her for his first love - the sea.The sea is portrayed as an addictive mistress that is both loved and hated. Of course, in the end, Anna does end up with a sailor. He promises that he will never leave her for very long, that he will take her with him on voyages when he can, and that he will never even look at any of the other women in seaside ports. But we have to wonder if this is true, or if Chris is right.Of the two plays by O'Neill that I read (the other being "The Emperor Jones") I liked this one best.
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Anna Christie - Eugene O'Neill
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Anna Christie, by Eugene O'Neill
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Title: Anna Christie
Author: Eugene O'Neill
Posting Date: June 4, 2009 [EBook #4025]
Release Date: May, 2003
First Posted: October 12, 2001
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANNA CHRISTIE ***
Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Rowe and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.
ANNA CHRISTIE
A Play in Four Acts
By
EUGENE O'NEILL
CHARACTERS
JOHNNY-THE-PRIEST
TWO LONGSHOREMEN
A POSTMAN
LARRY, bartender
CHRIS. CHRISTOPHERSON, captain of the barge Simeon Winthrop
MARTHY OWEN
ANNA CHRISTOPHERSON, Chris's daughter
THREE MEN OF A STEAMER'S CREW
MAT BURKE, a stoker
JOHNSON, deckhand on the barge
SCENES
ACT I
Johnny-the-Priest's
saloon near the waterfront. New York City.
ACT II
The barge, Simeon Winthrop, at anchor in the harbor of Provincetown, Mass. Ten days later.
ACT III
Cabin of the barge, at dock in Boston. A week later.
ACT IV
The same. Two days later.
Time of the Play—About 1910.
ACT I
SCENE—Johnny-The-Priest's
saloon near South Street, New York City. The stage is divided into two sections, showing a small back room on the right. On the left, forward, of the barroom, a large window looking out on the street. Beyond it, the main entrance—a double swinging door. Farther back, another window. The bar runs from left to right nearly the whole length of the rear wall. In back of the bar, a small showcase displaying a few bottles of case goods, for which there is evidently little call. The remainder of the rear space in front of the large mirrors is occupied by half-barrels of cheap whiskey of the nickel-a-shot
variety, from which the liquor is drawn by means of spigots. On the right is an open doorway leading to the back room. In the back room are four round wooden tables with five chairs grouped about each. In the rear, a family entrance opening on a side street.
It is late afternoon of a day in fall.
As the curtain rises, Johnny is discovered. Johnny-The-Priest
deserves his nickname. With his pale, thin, clean-shaven face, mild blue eyes and white hair, a cassock would seem more suited to him than the apron he wears. Neither his voice nor his general manner dispel this illusion which has made him a personage of the water front. They are soft and bland. But beneath all his mildness one senses the man behind the mask—cynical, callous, hard as nails. He is lounging at ease behind the bar, a pair of spectacles on his nose, reading an evening paper.
Two longshoremen enter from the street, wearing their working aprons, the button of the union pinned conspicuously on the caps pulled sideways on their heads at an aggressive angle.
FIRST LONGSHOREMAN—[As they range themselves at the bar.] Gimme a shock. Number Two. [He tosses a coin on the bar.]
SECOND LONGSHOREMAN—Same here. [Johnny sets two glasses of barrel whiskey before them.]
FIRST LONGSHOREMAN—Here's luck! [The other nods. They gulp down their whiskey.]
SECOND LONGSHOREMAN—[Putting money on the bar.] Give us another.
FIRST LONGSHOREMAN—Gimme a scoop this time—lager and porter. I'm dry.
SECOND LONGSHOREMAN—Same here. [Johnny draws the lager and porter and sets the big, foaming schooners before them. They drink down half the contents and start to talk together hurriedly in low tones. The door on the left is swung open and Larry enters. He is a boyish, red-cheeked, rather good-looking young fellow of twenty or so.]
LARRY—[Nodding to Johnny—cheerily.] Hello, boss.
JOHNNY—Hello, Larry. [With a glance at his watch.] Just on time. [LARRY goes to the right behind the bar, takes off his coat, and puts on an apron.]
FIRST LONGSHOREMAN—[Abruptly.] Let's drink up and get back to it. [They finish their drinks and go out left. The POSTMAN enters as they leave. He exchanges nods with JOHNNY and throws a letter on the bar.]
THE POSTMAN—Addressed care of you, Johnny. Know him?
JOHNNY—[Picks up the letter, adjusting his spectacles. LARRY comes and peers over his shoulders. JOHNNY reads very slowly.] Christopher Christopherson.
THE POSTMAN—[Helpfully.] Square-head name.
LARRY—Old Chris—that's who.
JOHNNY—Oh, sure. I was forgetting Chris carried a hell of a name like that. Letters come here for him sometimes before, I remember now. Long time ago, though.
THE POSTMAN—It'll get him all right then?
JOHNNY—Sure thing. He comes here whenever he's in port.
THE POSTMAN—[Turning to go.] Sailor, eh?
JOHNNY—[With a grin.] Captain of a coal barge.
THE POSTMAN—[Laughing.] Some job! Well, s'long.
JOHNNY—S'long. I'll see he gets it. [The POSTMAN goes out. JOHNNY scrutinizes the letter.] You got good eyes, Larry. Where's it from?
LARRY—[After a glance.] St. Paul. That'll be in Minnesota, I'm thinkin'. Looks like a woman's writing, too, the old divil! JOHNNY—He's got a daughter somewheres out West, I think he told me once. [He puts the letter on the cash register.] Come to think of it, I ain't seen old Chris in a dog's age. [Putting his overcoat on, he comes around the end of the bar.] Guess I'll be gettin' home. See you to-morrow.
LARRY—Good-night to ye, boss. [As JOHNNY goes toward the street door, it is pushed open and CHRISTOPHER CHRISTOPHERSON enters. He is a short, squat, broad-shouldered man of about fifty, with a round, weather-beaten, red face from which his light blue eyes peer short-sightedly, twinkling with a simple good humor. His large mouth, overhung by a thick, drooping, yellow mustache, is childishly self-willed and weak, of an obstinate kindliness. A thick neck is jammed like a post into the heavy trunk of his body. His arms with their big, hairy, freckled hands, and his stumpy legs terminating in large flat feet, are awkwardly short and muscular. He walks with a clumsy, rolling gait. His voice, when not raised in a hollow boom, is toned down to a sly, confidential half-whisper with something vaguely plaintive in its quality. He is dressed in a wrinkled, ill-fitting dark suit of shore clothes, and wears a faded cap of gray cloth over his mop of grizzled, blond hair. Just now his face beams with a too-blissful happiness, and he has evidently been drinking. He reaches his hand out to JOHNNY.]
CHRIS—Hello, Yohnny! Have drink on me. Come on, Larry. Give us drink. Have one yourself. [Putting his hand in his pocket.] Ay gat money—plenty money.
JOHNNY—[Shakes CHRIS by the hand.] Speak of the devil. We was just talkin' about you.
LARRY—[Coming to the end of the bar.] Hello, Chris. Put it there. [They shake hands.]
CHRIS—[Beaming.] Give us drink.
JOHNNY—[With a grin.] You got a half-snootful now. Where'd you get it?
CHRIS—[Grinning.] Oder fallar on oder barge—Irish fallar—he gat bottle vhiskey and we drank it, yust us two. Dot vhiskey gat kick, by yingo! Ay yust come ashore. Give us drink, Larry. Ay vas little drunk, not much. Yust feel good. [He laughs and commences to sing in a nasal, high-pitched quaver.]
"My Yosephine, come board de ship. Long time Ay vait for you.
De moon, she shi-i-i-ine. She looka yust like you.
Tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee."
[To the accompaniment of this last he waves his hand as if he were conducting an orchestra.]
JOHNNY—[With a laugh.] Same old Yosie, eh, Chris?
CHRIS—You don't know good song when you hear him. Italian fallar on oder barge, he learn me dat. Give us drink. [He throws change on the bar.]
LARRY—[With a professional air.] What's your pleasure, gentlemen?
JOHNNY—Small beer, Larry.
CHRIS—Vhiskey—Number Two.
LARRY—[As he gets their drinks.] I'll take a cigar on you.
CHRIS—[Lifting his glass.] Skoal! [He drinks.]
JOHNNY—Drink hearty.
CHRIS—[Immediately.] Have oder drink.
JOHNNY—No. Some other time. Got to go home now. So you've just landed? Where are you in from this time?
CHRIS—Norfolk. Ve make slow voyage—dirty vedder—yust fog, fog, fog, all bloody time! [There is an insistent ring from the doorbell at the family entrance in the back room. Chris gives a start—hurriedly.] Ay go open, Larry. Ay forgat. It vas Marthy. She come with me. [He goes into the back room.]
LARRY—[With a chuckle.] He's still got that same cow livin'