The Violent Outburst that drew me to you Read online

  FINEGAN KRUCKEMEYER has had 75 commissioned plays performed on five continents and translated into five languages. His work has enjoyed seasons in: over 70 international festivals; eight US national tours; six UK national tours; and at the Sydney Opera House (six works), New York’s New Victory Theater (three works), Dublin’s Abbey Theatre, Shanghai’s Malan Flower Theatre, and at theatres throughout Germany (where he is represented by Rowohlt).

  Finegan and his work have received at least one award each year for the past nine, including the inaugural Sidney Myer Creative Fellowship, and three Australian Writers Guild Awards for Best Play for Young Audiences. He is Keynote Speaker at the 2015 Lincoln Center Summer forum, and has spoken at conferences in Argentina, Australia, Austria, Denmark, England, Scotland, Sweden and the US, with essays published and his work studied at several international universities.

  He lives in Tasmania with his wife Essie and son Moe.

  www.finegankruckemeyer.com

  FIRST PRODUCTION

  The Violent Outburst That Drew Me to You was commissioned by Siren Theatre Co and Mudlark Theatre and first produced by Siren Theatre Co at Riverside Theatre, Sydney, on 21 November 2013, as part of True West, with the following cast:

  CONNOR Michael Cutrupi

  LOTTE / FEMALE ROLES Emily Ayoub, Branden Christine, Kate Worsley

  MALE ROLES Anthony Weir

  Director, Kate Gaul

  Composer, Daryl Wallis

  Choreographer, Ash Bee

  The play was subsequently produced by Siren Theatre Co in association with Griffin Independent and Inplay Arts, Sydney on 18 June, 2014, with the following cast:

  CONNOR Michael Cutrupi

  LOTTE / FEMALE ROLES Emily Ayoub, Natalia Ladyko, Rene Heys

  MALE ROLES Anthony Weir

  Director, Kate Gaul

  Designer, Jasmine Christie

  Lighting Designer, Hartley T A Kemp

  Choreographer, Ash Bee

  Composer, Daryl Wallis

  Initial dramaturgy was provided by Kate Gaul, Stuart Loone, Jane Johnson, Daryl Wallis and Ryan Politis, in a development at Mudlark Theatre (Launceston, Tasmania).

  The Violent Outburst That Drew Me to You was the winner of the 2014 Australian Writers’ Guild AWGIE Award (Best Theatre for Young Audiences).

  CHARACTERS

  CONNOR, 16 years old

  LOTTE, 16 years old

  OTHER FEMALE ROLES

  OTHER MALE ROLES

  If performed as a three-hander, the role of LOTTE may be performed by the actor playing OTHER FEMALE ROLES.

  SETTING

  Part One: a series of tangible spaces (home, garage, classroom, bus stop, art gallery, car).

  Part Two: a forest, which may be real or imagined (at the director’s discretion).

  PART ONE: OUT OF THE WOODS

  * * *

  PROLOGUE

  CONNOR inspects a door.

  CONNOR: There’s a number of features you have to take into account. This is a good model, good solid wood, nice coat of paint, nice look to it.

  It’s heavy.

  It swings well—see that swing? Really relaxed on the hinges, I’m not doing very much, yeah? That’s just the natural momentum—that’s good.

  Location’s really important. People go for the bedroom one usually, but then it’s on their terms. Then, after it’s happened, you’re in your room, which is where they’d tell you to go anyway. You’re incarcerating yourself.

  So I prefer one like this—middle of the house, near the living room, nice echoey hallway. Lovely acoustics here, good solid resonance.

  And then you loosen the thing up—see, there’s that swing. Really beautiful movement, does half the work for you.

  And then … you just say the magic words.

  MUM and DAD enter, mid-argument with CONNOR.

  MUM: Connor Nicholls, don’t you dare go an/

  CONNOR: /I said, leave me the fuck alone!

  He swings the door and it slams, loudly. Beat.

  And that’s a good door.

  SCENE ONE

  CONNOR: The most annoying thing about Mum and Dad … is they used to be kind of nice. If I think back, I can remember some good stuff—like this one time, after we finished painting the side of the house:

  The three stand in weary silence, viewing a wall. DAD puts an arm around CONNOR.

  DAD: Job, mate.

  CONNOR: Or this evening a couple of months ago:

  MUM is on the couch as CONNOR enters.

  MUM: Hi, Connor.

  CONNOR: Hi, Mum.

  MUM: Friday night—you going out?

  CONNOR: Um … no. No, I reckon I’ll stay in.

  MUM: Oh—okay. You want a cup of tea?

  CONNOR: Nah.

  He sits down beside her.

  What are you watching?

  MUM: An SBS thing—it’s about insects.

  CONNOR: Oh, yeah?

  They sit together, in contented silence.

  Or even this, when we hired a dumb boat last summer and everything went wrong.

  All are frustrated. MUM goes for the oars.

  MUM: Look, will you just let me/

  CONNOR: /I can do it, Mum!/

  MUM: /We’ve been going the wrong way for half an h/

  DAD: /Just give her the oars, Connor!

  In the struggle, an oar goes overboard. A tense silence … broken by all laughing.

  CONNOR: Even some of the arguments are cool. But not anymore. Not since they got all weird and crazy.

  DAD holds his wallet.

  DAD: What does ‘I don’t know’ mean?!

  CONNOR: ‘I don’t know’ means I don’t know!

  DAD: You don’t know where it’s gone?

  CONNOR: That’s what I said, didn’t I?/

  DAD: /I’m not asking what you said—I’m asking you for the truth! There’s a twenty-dollar note missing from my wallet and I think the person who took it was yo/

  CONNOR: /Yeah, and maybe your wife took it ’cause you’re always so tight, and you never buy any of us anything, and every single penny goes on an extension that you don’t even need, ’cause I’ll be gone as soon as I can, and then you’ve got this whole stupid house all to yourselves!

  Silence.

  DAD: You don’t fight fair, Connor.

  CONNOR: … I don’t want to fight at all.

  DAD: Mm.

  He walks away.

  CONNOR: Later that day I buy twenty dollars worth of mixed lollies. And at dinner we don’t talk about it. And the next day we don’t. And since then we haven’t, really.

  ’Cause … when I was growing up, this house had lots of different volume settings. You could turn it from one to ten—and sometimes breakfasts were pretty quiet and dinners were loud. Or sometimes we were all getting ready in the morning, which was noisy, but then in the evening we sat in the garden and that was relaxed.

  Only now there’s just one volume: this really loud one where it’s them shouting at me … Or me shouting at them. Or everyone shouting.

  And it’s because … I don’t know why.

  SCENE TWO

  CONNOR climbs onto a bus.

  CONNOR: Ugh.

  He hands over money. No response from the DRIVER.

  And … can I have my ticket please?

  DRIVER: Yeah—when you give me eighty more cents. It’s two dollars forty.

  CONNOR: Yeah—and I’m a student. So it’s one dollar sixty.

  DRIVER: Well, look.

  CONNOR: What are you pointing at? I don’t even know what you’re pointing at so/

  DRIVER: /That sign—which I’m pointing at—says if you’re a student,
then you show me a student ID. That’s how I know you’re a student.

  CONNOR: Well—I am one. So give me a ticket.

  DRIVER: Well, show me your ID.

  CONNOR: … I don’t have my ID on me, sir.

  DRIVER: Well then, you’re not a student.

  CONNOR: No, see, that isn’t actually true. Because I am a student, whether I have my ID or not.

  DRIVER: It doesn’t make/

  CONNOR: /I’m also an Australian—but I don’t have my passport on me. Doesn’t make me not an Australian though. Your logic is dumb, bus driver man!

  DRIVER: You do not shout at me on my own bus!

  CONNOR: Yeah, except it’s not your bus. You drive a bus that belongs to the city!

  DRIVER: How dare you/?

  CONNOR: /Even though I’m not … I’m not carrying my birth certificate that says ‘male’, I’m still a man!

  DRIVER: No, you’re not. You’re a squeaky-voiced little kid/

  CONNOR: /You fucking fat fuck!/

  DRIVER: /You’re a squeaky-voiced kid who is walking where he’s going, ’cause he’s leaving my bus right now!/

  CONNOR: /Yeah, he is, ’cause he can’t stand the look of you!/

  DRIVER: /Get off now, I said!/

  CONNOR: /Your stomach is literally sitting on the steering wheel, man—like, you are steering with your gut. That is sickening. That is literally—I can literally taste sick in my mou/

  The bus drives away. CONNOR runs after it, gesticulating wildly.

  I would … punch you in the face, man! I’m a pacifist and you’re making me want to … I would make your … saggy-arsed chins ripple when I drove my … my fist into your … right into your …

  Do you hear me?! Why are you all being like this?!

  CONNOR screams, and storms off.

  SCENE THREE

  CONNOR walks around a gallery with TIMO, both holding clipboards. A TEACHER leads.

  TEACHER: We’re moving into the rooms holding the Impressionists now. And can anyone tell me what’s immediately different about these paintings, compared to the ones we just saw? … Anyone?

  A muffled response.

  ‘They’re more gay’ … Thank you, Gavin, for that wonderful insight.

  You are in fact correct—the work you’re standing in front of was painted by a gay man. So I suppose … well done—your artistic ‘gaydar’ seems to be in perfect working order.

  Others giggle.

  Okay! Moving on this way we come to Renoir who I believe—and correct me if I’m wrong here, Gavin—was a heterosexual. You can see …

  TIMO: You’re scowling … Connor.

  CONNOR: What?

  TIMO: You’re scowling.

  CONNOR: I feel artsick.

  TIMO: Is that a thing?

  CONNOR: I just invented it. Copyright.

  Art’s just … so annoying! Like, look at it. Look: places you’ll never go, people who look weird (two eyes on one side of their face, whatever that’s about), girls who are hot but who you can’t get with ’cause they don’t exist. Or they did, but only a hundred years ago, and they’re dead now.

  TIMO: Yeah—don’t get with dead chicks. That’s important.

  CONNOR: Or … Or, look—some stuff that’s so … blobby and abstract you can’t even see what it is! Like, you know the artist started off looking at something normal, like fruit or a building or stuff, and ended up with that piece of shit. I sometimes think the entire art world was specifically created to piss me off.

  TIMO: … Maybe, yeah.

  Beat.

  CONNOR: Which painting did you copy, for the assignment?

  TIMO: The blue one back there.

  CONNOR: The girl one?

  TIMO: Yeah.

  CONNOR: Let me see.

  He studies the clipboard.

  You’ve … There’s a lot of attention given to her boobs.

  TIMO: Yeah, I know.

  CONNOR: It’s … pretty much all her boobs, Timo.

  TIMO: Yeah, it’s Impressionism. I looked at the picture, and I drew my impression of it.

  CONNOR: Her topless?

  TIMO: Yeah.

  CONNOR: … I think you’ll get in trouble.

  TIMO: Mmm. The great artists do.

  CONNOR: Can I see that?

  TIMO: [handing it over] Sure.

  CONNOR studies it, then quickly scribbles on it.

  CONNOR: Ha!

  TIMO: Connor! You drew a dick on her!

  CONNOR: And balls.

  TIMO: You drew a dick and balls on her! Ms Fletcher, Connor dick-n-balled my art!

  TEACHER: [not listening] So, what he was saying with the lilies is that this is what a lily really looks like. It doesn’t appear perfect and flat and dead. The light hits it, and the other lilies pull our focus away from it, and the shadows catch it. And most importantly our brain witnesses not a perfect lily, but a distortion, okay? So when you see a … a lily pond on a summer’s day, the colours do merge into each other. And it is blurry.

  A mumbled comment.

  This is not about my having glasses, Gavin! This is about the human eye, everyone’s human eye!

  Mumble.

  No, not blind people …

  Mumble.

  Yes, I know their perception is different—they’re blind.

  Mumble.

  Yes, there are some blind artists.

  Mumble.

  Yes, blind painters.

  Mumble.

  No, not the guy from My Left Foot.

  Mumble.

  He used his foot.

  Mumble.

  His left one!/

  /Okay! Class, go on ahead. Gavin and I are going to have a little talk about responsible use of a teacher’s patience. Go on, bugger off and finish your sketches.

  They wander off.

  CONNOR: Ugh! Look at that one, too. It pisses me off.

  TIMO: I know. It didn’t used to, but.

  CONNOR: Well … everyone’s become really annoying lately. Don’t you reckon?

  TIMO: Now? No.

  CONNOR: Nah, not now. Just … in general. Doesn’t it just make you … ? Arrrgh?!

  TIMO: Nah.

  CONNOR: Right. And why’s that?

  TIMO: Well … Usually I’m stoned.

  CONNOR: Mmm.

  TIMO: Or asleep. Yeah—if I had to describe myself, it’d be one of those two. Like right now—I’m not asleep. So I must be/

  CONNOR: /I get it, yeah.

  Pause.

  Even you, if I’m being honest. Even though you’re my best mate … you wind me up sometimes too.

  TIMO: Well … that’s alright. You make me sleepy a bit.

  CONNOR: Yeah?

  TIMO: When you talk and stuff. You talk a lot, and if we’re being honest, I’m less into talking. More into sle/

  CONNOR: /Sleeping, yeah, I get it.

  TIMO: Mmm. Or/

  CONNOR: /Getting stoned. I know.

  TIMO: I just … I don’t think I’m very complicated.

  CONNOR: … I would have to agree.

  Beat.

  You want to go look at more art?

  TIMO: I thought you were artsick.

  CONNOR: Just … come on.

  They wander off.

  SCENE FOUR

  CONNOR and SEANNAH sit side by side in detention. MR BRENNER stands up front.

  MR BRENNER: So, the six of you will be with me for one hour, and then you can go back to … sniffing glue or whatever it is you all do these days.

  CONNOR: [muffling the comment as a cough] Lame joke.

  MR BRENNER: Great, two hours for you, then, Connor. Fine with me—I’ve got marking to do.

  CONNOR groans.

  No more coughs, then?

  Now, I’m off to the staff room to get a coffee. Anyone else want anything?

  He laughs.

  And of course I don’t care.

  He heads out.

  No talking or that’s another hour with Connor and I.

  CONNOR rai
ses his hand.

  Yeah?

  CONNOR: ‘Connor and me’, sir. ‘Another hour with Connor and me’ …

  SEANNAH laughs. MR BRENNER goes to say something, then exits. CONNOR waves after him, then focuses on SEANNAH.

  So … detention.

  SEANNAH: … Yup.

  CONNOR: Seannah Pavlich is in detention.

  SEANNAH: Just … say what you see, Connor.

  CONNOR: What’d you do?

  SEANNAH: Forgot my uniform.

  CONNOR: Mmm.

  Silence.

  You want to know what I did?

  SEANNAH: … Okay.

  CONNOR: Smashed some windows along the science wing. With a basketball.

  SEANNAH: Was that you?

  CONNOR: Yup—on the weekend.

  SEANNAH: How’d you get caught?

  CONNOR: Parents saw it in the newsletter. Worked out it was me ’cause they saw me head off with the ball. Found glass on my clothes.

  SEANNAH: They dob you in?

  CONNOR: They’re fucks.

  Beat.

  Your clothes look weird.

  SEANNAH: They’re the festy ones they make you wear, from the box in the office. Everyone’s worn them. It’s the grossest punishment ever.

  CONNOR: Ha. Just hope Pissy Pants Pete didn’t have them before you.

  SEANNAH: Ha! Shut up—gross.

  CONNOR: Nah, just kidding. You still look nice in them.

  Beat.

  So … what you doing after detention?

  SEANNAH: I don’t know.

  CONNOR: You … want to hang out?

  SEANNAH: What?

  CONNOR: Later. You want to hang out later?

  SEANNAH: Um … I reckon I’ll be hanging out with Dane then. With my boyfriend then.

  CONNOR: Oh, right.

  SEANNAH: My boyfriend that you know I’ve got.

  CONNOR: Yeah—and maybe I didn’t mean it like that. Maybe I meant friends.

  SEANNAH: You so meant it like that.

  CONNOR: I so didn’t.

  Removing his focus from her.

  Skank.

  SEANNAH: What’d you call me?!

  CONNOR: Nothing. A skank.

  SEANNAH: Well, they’re pretty different, Connor. You call me nothing, means you called me nothing. You call me a skank—means you’re a tosser.

  CONNOR: Or … means I’m observant.

  SEANNAH: Of what? What—means that I skank around, and you’re calling me on it? Yeah, the way I act like such a skank by not shagging you because I’ve got a boyfriend. What a skanky thing of me to do.