(A field. Midnight. Full moon. Hatter, an old clown, still in his clown make up and costume, from the show, sits on a tree stump looking depressed. Enter Hare, another old clown, looking depressed as well.)
Hatt. You got here.
Hare. Yes.
Hatt. Did you manage to slip out undetected?
(Hare nods dejectedly.)
Hatt. Who was on?
Hare. Mario and his dancing penguins.
Hatt. I thought they got sick.
Hare. He gave them anti-biotics. In their pilchards.
Hatt. I thought they liked herring?
Hare. No. Pilchards.
(Hare looks up despondently.)
The moon is full. They say starring at it can drive you mad.
Hatt. Well don’t stare!
(Hatt gets up and paces around annoyed.)
You did it again you know. (Miming.) I blow in my saxophone. Your trousers fall down. I drop the baby in surprise, and when we both bend over, bingo! Our heads bang together, but yours was miles away. Miles away.
Hare. I can’t concentrate.
Hatt. Miles away.
Hare. I feel confused.
Hatt. Miles away.
Hare. My mind wanders.
Hatt. Miles away.
Hare. I’m bored with it.
Hatt. (Superior and knowing.) Look. They’re not paying us to be ordinary people who manage to preserve their dignity by rigidly controlling every single aspect of their behaviour and keeping it all within a small and undemonstrative framework.
(Pause.)
Hare. What are you? Some kind of therapist?
Hatt. No. I’m a clown.
Hare. You are a clown.
Hatt. And what are you then. Winston bloody Churchill?
Hare. I told you before that the head banging bizznizz was old hat but you wouldn’t listen, would you?
Hatt. Well. What did you come up with. The fucking squirting flower! Who hasn’t seen that before?
Hare. The kids like the squirting flower! It has class!
Hatt. It’s got about as much class as my arse!
(They square up to each other. Turn away. Hare sits on the tree stump.)
Hare. Oh what difference does it make? It’s not what we want to do.
Hatt. No.
Hare. It’s not like it’s our act.
Hatt. No.
Hare. It’s not the act we wrote.
Hatt. All those years ago.
Hare. In the boarding house.
Hatt. In Brighton.
Hare. When we first met.
Hatt. (Laughing.) Mrs troubshaw.
Hare. (Laughing.) She said her husband’s car had a catholic converter.
Hatt. She had that stick to measure the bathwater.
Hare. In case you took too much.
Hatt. When you farted she said.
Hare. I fear someone has had an extraneous eruction!
(They both laugh.)
Hatt. Priceless. And what about mr Troubshaw.
Hare. The mysterious Mr T.
Hatt. Yeah. You hardly ever saw him.
Hare. Always in the other part of the house.
Hatt. Locked away.
Hare. Doing his stuff.
Hatt. But when he did come out.
Hare. His skin.
Hatt. Like it was covered in a fine white powder.
Hare. Sort of desiccated.
H&H. UUUrrgghh.
Hatt. You know what he was doing back there.
Hatt. I can imagine.
Hare. Holidaymaker’s mysterious disappearance.
Hatt. Torso found by side of dual carriageway.
Hare. Local iron mongers sells out of industrial acid.
H&H. UUUgghhhrrrgh. DESSICATED!
Hatt. I didn’t like being in the same room as him.
Hare. Me nie-ther.
Hatt. Nee-ther.
Hare. Niether. (Pause.) So you know. Why the hell aren’t we doing our OUR act? That was the act we wrote. That’s why we got together. The act. It’s us. Isn’t it? And do we do it? No we don’t.
Hatt. It aint that simple.
Hare. Yes it is.
Hatt. No it isn’t! And we’ve discussed this a million times.
Hare. So?
Hatt. You just can’t do your own act. Nobodies going to pay you for that. Not in this post-modern world.
Hare. Fucking post-modern world.
Hatt. It just isn’t going to happen.
Hare. But our act is good!
Hatt. That isn’t the point. You have to entertain.
Hare. (Disgust.) Entertain. Where’s the artistic element in that?
Hatt. Art isn’t an issue. Only entertainment.
Hare. Bloody philistines.
Hatt. That may well be. But that’s how it is. In this culture, at this point in time, all they want is trouser dropping…
Hare. Head banging…
Hatt. Baby losing…
Hare. Fire engine bell ringing…
Hatt. Custard pie receiving…
Hare. Saxophone bubble blowing…
Hatt. Flower squirting…
Hare. BOLLOX! (Pause.) But our act is good. (Pause.) Let’s do it now.
Hatt. What?
Hare. Let’s do it now. Here.
Hatt. Why? No one’s watching.
Hare. Does there have to be an audience?
Hatt. Yes. Of course. I’m an artist.
Hare. You’re a tosser. Look. I’m the audience, and you’re the audience.
(Hatt is not convinced.)
Percy mate! For the love of Gawd! Let’s do it. Our act. For one last time, here, in a field, under a full moon, at midnight, (Indicating audience.) for the cows, if no one else! It’s our act fer Kristsakes!!!!!!!
(Hatt struggles and at last capitulates. He nods. They turn round and reach into hold-all, that Hare brought on with him. Turn back wearing some kind of nazi uniform with Hitler moustaches. German accents.)
Hare. Hello children.
Hatt. Are you feeling unhappy.
Hare. Are you feeling depressed.
Hatt. Are you tired of zee know-it-all adults?
Hare. Telling you to sit down?
Hatt. To shut up.
Hare. To behave like them?
Hatt. To be boring unhappy robots.
Hare. In a boring unhappy universe?
Hatt. And giving you zee potty training.
Hare. Poop poop poop.
Hatt. Zee etiquette training.
Hare. Zee fork, zee spoon, zee k-niff.
Hatt. Zee brain training.
Hare. (Singing.) I am zee very model of a modern major general, with informations animal, zee vegetable and mineral.
Hatt. Zen fear no more.
Hare. For we are here.
Song
Everybody needs to be
A nazi now and then
What will make zee world go round
A final prog-err-ah-ham!!!
So it’s time to get your parents
Take them far away
Conduct some fun experiments
It’s time for you to play.
They acted like nazis to poor you
Now you can be a nazi to them
It’s only fair
Do you think they care?
How much must you bear?
(March type music.)
So children unite!
You know you must fight.
This parental blight!
For we are the Hitler clowns
And we are fucking right!
Hare. It’s a fantastic act!
Hatt. It certainly hits the spot.
Hare. The Hitler clowns. What a genius we had when we came up with that!!!
Hatt. Yeah. Genius.
Hare. The moon’s gone behind a cloud.
Hatt. Yeah. (Pause.) Well. That’s that then. We did it.
Hare. Yeah. One last time.
Hatt. One last time.
Hare. The last post.
Hatt. The end of the road.
Hare. The final …
Hatt. Curtain?
Hare. Encore.
(Pause.)
Hatt. Did you bring it?
Hare. You mean the rope? The rope to hang ourselves with?
Hatt. (Sarcastic.) No. The bleedin clockwork stirrup pump.
Hare. (Despondent.) Yeah.
(Mime. Takes it out of bag. Everything with rope is mimed.)
Hatt. What are you looking at me like that for? We agreed. We painstakingly went through all the pros and cons, the ifs and buts, the yeas and nays. Are we going to carry on being a couple of sad old clowns, going through the same stale routines, just to make a mindless bunch of kids, scream pointlessly with mindless bloody laughter? Are we? Are we? Where’s are dignity? Where’s our integrity? Where’s our true clown spirit? I’ll tell you. Here. Here, in this here rope. Rope. (Pause.) So come on. Tie the bloody noose and let’s get it over with.
(Hare starts to tie rope to tree bough above head.)
Hare. But one of us will have to go first and then suppose the other one changes his mind. Loses his nerve.
Hatt. We discussed that. Memory like a sieve. We go together.
Hare. Two heads in one noose? That’s a bit unorthodox.
Hatt. Yes. Well. We’re clowns not merchant bankers.
Hare. (Worried.) But will it work? Surely the noose is a one person piece of equipment?
Hatt. (Thinking.) Alright then. We go one at a time.
Hare. But who goes first?
Hatt. I will. There. Problem solved.
(Hare organises rope and moves tree stump to stand on. Hatt stands on it. Noose mime.
Hare. Ready?
Hatt. Ready. (Pause.) I hereby renounce life for being the painful godless sham it is, Samuel Beckett. Like a mental patient receiving an award for playing William Shakespeare, yadda yadda yadda, the end.
(Hatt sways on the tree stump. Screws eyes shut. Tension.)
Hare. Wait!
Hatt. What?
Hare. I’ve had a strange kind of epiphany or mystical realisation!
Hatt. Oh bollox! What?
Hare. I’ve realised. If I looked in my heart. If I was honest with myself, really honest, not pretend honest, I’d have to admit, I’ve only one real friend in the world. And that’s you Hatt. And when you stepped up there on the stump, I saw it all. All we have shared. All the struggle. All the heartache. All the times we died on our arses. The boredom. The rejections. All of it. And I realised. There’s still one thing that’s important to me. And that’s not, NOT, letting you down. So that’s why I’m making this confession. Because once you’ve gone, I don’t think I’ll be able to go through with it. Without you here, to egg me on, my nerve will go. And I don’t want to let you down. That would make me fell worse than what I normally feel even. So I’m asking you. (Kneeling like in prayer.)Hatt. Give it another go. Maybe there is a point to it all. Maybe there is a purpose. Maybe there’s,(Like a sacrilege.) even a God. Who knows. Who really knows. Please.
(Hatt takes off noose and steps down off tree stump.
They awkwardly embrace. Take down rope and put it in hold-all.)
Hatt. So. A happy ending.
Hare. (Despondent.) Yeah. Happy.
Hatt. Come on.
(They start to leave.)
And remember. Tomorrow night. When I drop the baby.
Hare. Yeah yeah yeah.
(They exit. Curtain.)
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