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    The Seafarer (NHB Modern Plays)
    The Seafarer (NHB Modern Plays)
    The Seafarer (NHB Modern Plays)
    Ebook114 pages1 hour

    The Seafarer (NHB Modern Plays)

    By Conor McPherson

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    About this ebook

    A breathtaking supernatural play from the author of The Weir.
    It's Christmas Eve and Sharky has returned to Dublin to look after his irascible, ageing brother who's recently gone blind. Old drinking buddies Ivan and Nicky are holed up at the house too, hoping to play some cards. But with the arrival of a stranger from the distant past, the stakes are raised ever higher. In fact, Sharky may be playing for his very soul.
    'a blistering emotional punch... The Seafarer first ambushes you and then haunts you for days afterwards' - Time Out
    'sparkling and suspenseful... McPherson is a born yarn-spinner' - Guardian
    'McPherson's new play is one of his most succinct and startling, and the funniest to date... what he creates is apparently simple, but daring and memorable. He sends his characters off on benders, and they bump into the infinite' - Observer
    'a realistic fantasy, a wide-awake nightmare. The writing is poetic, brutal, athletic, hilarious' - Sunday Times
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNick Hern Books
    Release dateOct 9, 2014
    ISBN9781780012810
    The Seafarer (NHB Modern Plays)
    Author

    Conor McPherson

    Conor McPherson is a playwright, screenwriter and director, born in Dublin in 1971. Plays include Rum and Vodka (Fly by Night Theatre Co., Dublin); The Good Thief (Dublin Theatre Festival; Stewart Parker Award); This Lime Tree Bower (Fly by Night Theatre Co. and Bush Theatre, London; Meyer-Whitworth Award); St Nicholas (Bush Theatre and Primary Stages, New York); The Weir (Royal Court, London, Duke of York's, West End and Walter Kerr Theatre, New York; Laurence Olivier, Evening Standard, Critics' Circle, George Devine Awards); Dublin Carol (Royal Court and Atlantic Theater, New York); Port Authority (Ambassadors Theatre, West End, Gate Theatre, Dublin and Atlantic Theater, New York); Shining City (Royal Court, Gate Theatre, Dublin and Manhattan Theatre Club, New York; Tony Award nomination for Best Play); The Seafarer (National Theatre, London, Abbey Theatre, Dublin and Booth Theater, New York; Laurence Olivier, Evening Standard, Tony Award nominations for Best Play); The Veil (National Theatre); The Night Alive (Donmar Warehouse, London and Atlantic Theater, New York); and Girl from the North Country (Old Vic, London). Theatre adaptations include Daphne du Maurier's The Birds (Gate Theatre, Dublin and Guthrie Theater, Minneapolis), August Strindberg's The Dance of Death (Donmar at Trafalgar Studios), Franz Xaver Kroetz's The Nest (Young Vic, London), Chekhov's Uncle Vanya (West End, 2020) and Paweł Pawlikowski's Cold War (Almeida Theatre, 2023). Work for the cinema includes I Went Down, Saltwater, Samuel Beckett's Endgame, The Actors, The Eclipse and Strangers. His work for television includes an adaptation of John Banville's Elegy for April for the BBC, and the original television drama Paula for BBC2. Awards for his screenwriting include three Best Screenplay Awards from the Irish Film and Television Academy; Spanish Cinema Writers Circle Best Screenplay Award; the CICAE Award for Best Film Berlin Film festival; Jury Prize San Sebastian Film Festival; and the Méliès d’Argent Award for Best European Film.

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      Book preview

      The Seafarer (NHB Modern Plays) - Conor McPherson

      ACT ONE: THE DEVIL AT BINN EADAIR

      Scene One

      The grim living area of a house in Baldoyle in Dublin. The house seems to be built into a hill. The main entrance is down a flight of stairs from the ground floor, giving a basement feel to the room. There is a window with a net curtain and threadbare heavier curtains drawn over it. At the back wall is an opening to a passageway giving access to a yard. Off the passageway are a mostly unseen kitchen and a toilet.

      The place lacks a woman’s touch. It has morphed into a kind of a bar in its appearance. Those who live or pass through here are so immersed in pub culture that many artefacts in the room are originally from bars: a big mirror advertising whiskey, ashtrays, beer mats, a bar stool or two somewhere. There is a cold stove. The furniture is old and worn. An armchair, a couch, mismatched chairs, a dresser with very old mugs, cups and various chipped plates, a little table more suited for playing cards than for eating at…

      As the play begins the room is more or less in darkness. Some light seeps through from the kitchen, from the door to the yard, from down the stairs and through the threadbare curtains. There doesn’t appear to be anyone here. An old stereo plays low music. A scrawny artificial Christmas tree haunts a corner.

      SHARKY comes down the stairs, pausing to tap a red light under a picture of the Sacred Heart which has gone out. It flickers to life for a second but goes out again as he descends and surveys the scene. He is in mismatched pyjamas with a sweater over them and wears a pair of runners. He is not a big man, but is wiry and strong. A very tough life is etched on his face. His eyes are quick and ready. He has a small plaster at the bridge of his nose and a few plasters on the knuckles of his right hand. He opens the curtains to let in the morning light which reveals the squalor. He goes to the stereo and shuts it off. He then realises the phone is ringing. He lifts the receiver.

      SHARKY. Hello? Hello?

      He hangs up. As he does so, RICHARD, his older brother, stirs awake. He has been asleep (passed out)on the floor where we didn’t notice him or took him for a bundle of rags. He wears a black suit, one slipper, an ancient baseball cap and a filthy white shirt. He is unshaven and looks terrible. He has recently gone blind. He rises up behind SHARKY…

      RICHARD. Who’s that? Sharky?

      SHARKY (startled). What are you fucking doing?!

      RICHARD. What happened?

      SHARKY. Nothing – I just turned off the radio. I thought you told me you’d go up to bed!

      RICHARD. Yeah, I meant to, but I’d no one to help me up the stairs!

      SHARKY. Where was Ivan?

      RICHARD. I don’t know! He must’ve gone home.

      SHARKY. I thought you said you could feel your way up!

      RICHARD. Ah, Sharky! Not when I’m jarred!

      SHARKY (going to RICHARD, picking up a slipper). For fuck’s sake, Richard…

      RICHARD. Ah, don’t be at me now, I’m not able for it. What time is it?

      SHARKY. It’s half ten.

      RICHARD. Oh God, I’m bursting… give us a hand, where’s me stick?

      SHARKY, slipper in hand, looks around for RICHARD’s stick, while RICHARD shakily holds on to the chair, one slipper on, one slipper off.

      Sharky!

      SHARKY. I’m here!

      RICHARD. God, it’s freezing! Where’s me stick?

      SHARKY. I don’t know! Where did you put it?

      RICHARD. If I knew where I put it, I’d have it!

      SHARKY. Ah, don’t fucking start, I’m looking for it, if you’d’ve let me bring you up to bed last night you’d have everything…

      RICHARD. Ivan was here! What was I gonna do, leave him sitting in here on his own?

      SHARKY. No, you were too busy drinking your fucking brains out.

      SHARKY goes towards the kitchen.

      RICHARD. Hark at you! Hark at Sharky! That’s a good one! ‘The hypocrite’s voice haunts his own den!’

      SHARKY returns with the stick.

      SHARKY. Here, I have it.

      RICHARD. Where was it?

      SHARKY. It was outside the jacks door. Where it was yesterday as well.

      SHARKY gives RICHARD the stick and crouches to help RICHARD get his slipper on.

      RICHARD. Would you give me a hand and bring me through!!

      SHARKY. I am! What do you think I’m doing?

      SHARKY lifts RICHARD’s foot into his slipper.

      RICHARD. Alright! I’m just asking… Jaysus, who got out of bed on the wrong side this morning?

      SHARKY (helping RICHARD towards the passageway). Good fuck, Richard, you absolutely stink again, do you know that?

      RICHARD. Yeah, happy Christmas to you as well!

      SHARKY. Would you not let me put you in the bath? I’ll give you a nice shave.

      RICHARD. I told you! Tomorrow! Christmas morning! What’s the point doing it today? I’ll only stink the place out for Santy!

      SHARKY. Alright! Relax! You have me going deaf in that ear!

      SHARKY opens the toilet door.

      Ah, Richard, who did that all over the floor?

      RICHARD. Well, I don’t know!

      SHARKY. Come on, let me bring you upstairs I’ll give you a shave, come on.

      RICHARD. I said tomorrow! Would you let me do my toilet please, Sharky? For… Jaysus’ sake will you come out of me road?

      SHARKY (off). I am! Let me just wipe the seat…

      RICHARD (storming in and ejecting SHARKY). Come out of me road!

      The toilet door slams. SHARKY tidies up a few things, finding a bottle of Powers whiskey under a chair with about a quarter left. He goes to the stove and pokes around in there.

      (Off.) Sharky!

      SHARKY. What?

      RICHARD (off). Is there not any jacks roll in here?

      SHARKY. I don’t know! You’re in there!

      RICHARD (off). Well, there’s none on the holder and I can’t feel on the floor…

      SHARKY. Hold on!

      SHARKY goes into the kitchen and takes a roll of tissue paper to the toilet.

      RICHARD (off). Don’t come in!

      SHARKY. Well, what do you want me to do?

      RICHARD (off). Just hand me in some!

      SHARKY. There’s only kitchen roll here, okay?

      RICHARD (off). Just hand it in to me.

      SHARKY. Here…

      RICHARD (off). Where’s your hand?

      SHARKY. Here! Here!

      SHARKY slams the toilet door.

      RICHARD (off). Don’t slam the door!

      SHARKY reappears and begins laying the table for some breakfast, bringing out a bowl of mandarin oranges, and a Kellogg’s variety pack of various cereals in small boxes. He goes back into the kitchen. IVAN appears at the top of the stairs. He is a big burly man with a red face and curly hair. He wears a shirt tucked into his pants, the back sticking out. He feels his way gingerly down. SHARKY comes back with some milk and two bowls.

      IVAN (sheepishly). Morning, Sharky.

      SHARKY. Ivan! Did you stay over?

      IVAN. Yeah, no, I couldn’t get a taxi. (Hands shaking…) Oh God, I feel terrible.

      SHARKY. Have some breakfast.

      IVAN. Oh God, I don’t know. Let me just… get my bearings for a minute, is that okay?

      SHARKY. You don’t have to ask me that,

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