Category / Theatre

by Edward Champion

Can There Be a John Osborne Today?

Next Monday is the 50th anniversary of the opening of John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger. And a new Osborne bio is just out. But is Osborne’s seminal play, with its kitchen sink realism and its Angry Young Man archetype, as influential as people made it out to be at the time? I would argue yes, with the stipulation that if Osborne had not come along, someone else would have. Theatre was intended to break out of its decorum at some point and Osborne’s work, even if you view it as one-note, certainly fits the bill, paving the way for later work by David Mamet, Edward Albee, David Storey, Harold Pinter and David Hare (the latter, incidentally, is one of Osborne’s great champions).

The question of whether Osborne is a seminal figure or not has me wondering whether theatre is still something of a troubled medium. I’ve remarked upon this before, but, here in San Francisco, I find it particularly disheartening to see a lot of theatre people catering to audiences, resorting to staged adaptations of films (Evil Dead Live) and even television (the Dark Room’s Twilight Zone productions) to get young people into the seats.

What this suggests to me is that something which confronts will be either viewed as bad performance art (and let’s face it: much of it is) or it will be ignored by audiences looking for some comfort zone: essentially, a reproduction of something that can be seen on their televisions at home. Because of this, I wonder if an Albee or an Osborne is even possible outside of New York. Then again, perhaps not. When the top Broadway draws are The Producers, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and Spamalot, what hope is there for the next wave of brash young playwrights who hope to present original material?

It’s a troubling thing to think about fifty years after Osborne stirred the stage and I hope theatre, in all of its many venues, stumbles upon an answer.

by Edward Champion

Oedipus the Chat King

[EDITOR’S NOTE: A team of archeologists have unearthed an unfinished work from Sophocles entitled Oedipus the Chat King. What is particularly amazing about this excerpt is that it seems to closely match recent, but by no means confirmed, events. Return of the Reluctant has obtained an exclusive translation of Sophocles’ one act play. Please bear in mind that this is very rough and by no means a complete portrayal of Sophocles’ text. But we offer the rough translation in an effort to promote the humanities and give scholars a first look at this astonishing discovery.]

OEDIPUS

Here too my dialup has often lagged, for twice
At Creon’s instance have I called tech support
When losing a flirtatious email

CHORUS:

My liege, beware! The prophecy! The prophecy!

OEDIPUS

These warnings I disregard, for she is sensuous
Well prepared to wear a hot pink tank top
To match the noble lips, two sets I’ll kiss upon the beach.
Her name: the beautiful Jocasta, jumpy and jocose
Willing to hole up in a Ramada Inn with room service
A fan of reenacting scenes from pornographic pay-per-view
With the nimblest fingers and a malleable mouth
How can I, Oedipus the Great Chat King, lose in the deal?
I know not her age, but she says she’s older
Experience, let us not forget, is a virtue.

CHORUS

Methinks he walks into the Venus Flytrap of anonymity
Whom thou art be careful with, given trannies
Sad sacks, stalkers, DSM-IV exemplars and liars
But this, O Noble Chat King, is not worth your while
Do not be blinded by a titilating faceless JPEG
Thou hath not seen her visage nor engaged in real-world chitchat
Beware, your highness! You’ll never live this down!

OEDIPUS

The chorus, despite my many bribes, is stentorian
Have they no respect for royalty?
It took me five years and many X-rays
To become the Great Chat King
This woman then, who hopes to shift in the sands
Is the most flawless type I have come across
But no more! Hark! She comes near now

JOCASTA

Yoohoo! Chat King? Come closer so we might liplock
And take our sandy tangos to a hotel suite

OEDIPUS

The girl of my dreams! See her white shorts
Her trim legs. I cannot wait to sink my teeth
Into her bosom. Come nearer, Jocasta!
Let me taste your saliva and stroke your thighs

JOCASTA

O Chat King! Your talk pumps the blood
In my varicose veins. I want you, Chat King.
I want to smell you and feel you close to my —
Dear lord!

OEDIPUS

But what is this astonishment, my love?
My — oh fuck! I wanted pizzazz, but —
Mom, could it be you? Ewwwwwwwwwww.

JOCASTA

Let us speak nothing of this, son. It never happened.
It can never be uttered by —

OEDIPUS

The lights! The black and whites on the beach!
We’re done for!

JOCASTA

Now, son, before you were born, I did many things
To talk my way out of a ticket. Indeed, talking was
The least of my worries.

OEDIPUS

Mother! Stop! They’re leading us away!
This terrible tale, foretold by the soothsayers,
Will be spread across the Internet!
I’ll never date again!

JOCASTA

Hush hush, dear son. One-time Prince of Pleasure.
You trusted my poetry. Now trust my gift of gab.

[Here, the text ends. We leave our audience to judge what any of this means.]