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Blurb (Act I) PARSONS: I’m beginning to feel what his friends must have gone through when they were really seeing him off. The longer they wait, the more improbably it is that the bloody plane will ever leave. They mouth platitudes to each other about every man having the unimpeachable right to die at home. They don’t look into each other’s eyes knowing that not one of them has even bothered to tell the old boy about pipe dreams, tobacco smoke delusions. What they mean, really, is that they can’t wait any longer to get him off their hands. Blurb (Act 2) SURROUND MONOLOGUE: I didn’t care. I had my ticket in my hand in the plane. I would have had my ticket in my hand if they hadn’t taken it off me before I got on. That’s not the point. It’s as good as having your ticket in your hand when you’re sitting in the plane and they haven’t turfed you off because if they haven’t turfed you off then that means you must have had a ticket in your hand to be able to be there on the plane. And what I’ve got a right to expect is a bit of help from someone coming up and saying Siggie. Someone to come up and say my name. It’s a tremendous bit of help when someone remembers your name when they come up and say, Siggie. It’s terrible when someone comes up and opens his mouth to speak but says nothing. Blurb (Act 3) As a director, I was immediately impressed by the inherent theatricality of the play… of what constitutes a theatrical event. In this work that gives us not just a play but an experience of the struggle for creation. (Peter Batey, Artistic Director,
A humorous narrative writtenn for nthe stage around Ron Edwards' best-selling book 'Australian Yarns'
A harvesting of 6 full-length plays by Bill Reed which have not been published in book or ebook form before, yet were performed by professional companies.
John Tasker is a divided, but enjoined, man. Physically he is running from the law while hunting down his own father, just as his father used to track down the wild tuskers in Sri Lanka. At the same time, mentally, he is tracking down his murderous brother’s enemies, imaginably or not, with a deadly efficiency. Adding to his confusion is how his indolent lawyer’s job in the Attorney-General’s Department has itself suddenly become fraught with danger for his own personal safety. The resultant clash that erupts between his fervently-adopted Australia and his fervently-rejected Sri Lanka isn’t helping the mental chaos he is thrown into on an otherwise perfectly-acceptable day. One trouble is his state of being so enjoined. Through his own mind’s-eye he sees how his own milieu has been drawing him inevitably towards the cliff’s edge. Also through his-and-his-brother’s mind’s-eye he sees too much of the terrorizing worldwide Tamil organizations, and from a close-up much too gory. And through his-and-his-father’s mind’s-eye he sees no good nurture purpose to his existence, except the sighing and dying and the leavings from him. He can see how it’s all so willfully like his father’s wild snared tuskers endeavouring to escape, trying to drag the lines dragging the antler’d sambhur’s skulls through the hopelessly impossible bush. On top of all this, he has the living scaffold of the Sri Lankan Inspector Ekanayake now-and-ever looming over him. The Inspector doesn’t care a hoot about any mind’s-eye or mind’s-eyes, ‘bloody ****ing hell sorry’. He only cares for the hunt’s conclusion, and how John Tasker should know it. What is the Inspector doing in Canberra and asking so many pointed questions? What might he know about the shadowy and murderous Tasker twin brother with, apparently, the justified alias of Tusker? All John Tasker can now see is how his world and the manic world of his fearsome brother are being forced to converge so suddenly and so bizarrely. This is the first title in the ongoing Inspector Ekanayake series.
Y ou could say man into wolf and wolf into man got blasted into existence. You could also say the Tasmanian Aborigines and the Tasmanian Wolf got blasted out of existence. It’s called extinction and it lasts forever and, when Ihe the wolfman did the sums of early Tasmania, it all added up. This was except for one thing… the existence of the truly last Thylacine Wolf hiding out somewhere life-giving and life-preserving from the ever-hunters and the always-killers. This made it all the more urgent for Ihe to find the great beast first, in order to brace up its unique animal-kind courage before they tracked it down. They are always tracking it down. But Ihe was Man and also Wolf, as one, and he was on the scent too… that for every eye done to extinction was a human hunter’s eye and for every done-in eye tooth was a human hunter’s tooth. And for flesh, what better than human flesh? But first, there was his famous arch-enemy to hunt down and run from, both. It was bad enough when he planted his foot in the wrong place and the Army’s report about it concluding: ‘In any hairy situations, this will undoubtedly change how he gets a lot of looks’. But what would the Army know about the trauma that transmogrifies? It’s always been nits or nothing with him, anyhow. It’s just that Ihe the wolfman didn’t want to end up like the presumed last Tasmanian Wolf hanging from a rafter. That great shame.
We cannot blame Charles Dickens for not meeting our national Arts treasure Philip P. Pirip, but: go blame yr rottern Fate; whos flushs beat yr faces straights It could be said, though, Dickens did lend his major characters to Philip P. Pirip, although ‘lend’ might not be the best word; rather freedom opened the door to its wide-open spaces to allow them to escape and give vent to their grievances with their famous author, seeing as to how he never once mentioned the fabulous Surnevv diamonds that they once had their hands on and now wanted back at whatever cost to literature. Fabulous royalties might have been Charles Dickens’s lot but the diamonds were the only avenue for riches beyond creative writing for Miss Haversham, Estella, Mister Jaggers, Compeyson, Orlick, Biddy and a whole cast of actors and naked ‘actrusses’ who now demanded their jewel dues and were willing to kill for them. That escape fell to them after ‘Great Expectations’ found its way onto one of the heaps in the rubbish tip that was beloved of Pirip and in fact the location of his Tiphome, a dump in itself. From that fact, it was only a short fictional distance for the Dickens’s characters to land on Pirip’s lap with a vengeance. They came to lap but I stukk out tongue, ‘take thapt’! How our hero struggles with them might not be in any universal history books but, in artistic circles, it set the standard for the license to cull.
Smith, and then his son Terry, found they were just as snagged on Hindu’s damning wheel as their forebears had been for over 170 years, until the family finally managed to carry on to Australia. The two of them thought they could ride belatedly to the rescue of Terry’s once little-she twin who was simply never handed over at the adoption ceremony those years before… especially since they discovered she had escaped being returned to sender at birth as some sort of yoni-assembled piece of mis(s)-manufacture. But they found themselves caught in the spokes of child rackets, caste delusions, and probes into the country’s female-gender issues that are only attached by wires to ultrasound machines. Nandi Baba, the Kapalika priest, with his best-brandy Tantra practices, gave them hope of saying enough’s-enough, until his conjured Hag goddess, a-quiver sexually, came down upon them. The book is set in Australia, India and Sri Lanka and is fictionally based on real events – and, most devastatingly, on even Indian Government statistics showing in many places mathematically-impossible discrepancies between official birth rates of boys over girls. ----------------
THE POOL IS A GREAT GYM… FOR ALL AGES! You don’t have to be a swimmer or sprightly to experience the joys of water and the benefits of water exercising. In your own or the local pool, you have the best fitness medium imaginable. The pool is not just for kids to play around in, or for competitive swimmers only. Even if you can’t swim, it’s for you -- a fitness center that comes without embarrassment because you are doing something sensible that looks sensible! Use the pool as a gym for: ü general day-by-day fitness ü body building -- using even only old socks on your hands or feet! ü sports training and injury recovery ü pregnancy – gentle yet great-flexibility help ü aches and pains relief -- no matter what your age Or, simply to feel good. Or, going one step further: to get back to feeling good! Water exercising is also great fun: Do it to music. Do it in pairs or groups, or just indulge yourself. Get strong or try slimming with it. If you push against water, you will meet a smooth resistance that gives back what you put in. You feel that special ‘soft’ resistance that only water gives so soothingly and relaxingly. So, use it to benefit yourself or your loved ones or friends. Water is the only fitness ‘apparatus’ you need have. Be your own coach in your own pool.
Surely you remember Wi, a name especially chosen to fit our attention spans? The world-record kidnappee, nabbee, swipee, snatchee, hoisted so many times even he’s lost count? (How about those three times in five minutes effort? That takes rare raw talent, that does.) I mean, if it wasn’t for our Wi how many of these yabbers, yarns, shaggy dogs and yank-your-chain whoppers could I trot out for you? Even getting across one’s not easy when it’s always against the wind from people laughing in your face. No, really, without our Wi, where would all the odd-balls be, drowning their sorrows by ingesting the food in Dominic’s Eatery, swallowing whole mouthfuls without a thought for their own safety? Would any plate get the Wi wipe and come out miraculously unscathed from what had been just laid upon it? Without Wi, how many screwballs could have hired him to do all they’ve always wanted to do? God knows, and the Talls say ‘God knows’ because, if you take it that God made him in His own image, then maybe you’ve stumbled across the one time God spoke too soon. Okay, setting that aside, coming to you is a cast of Lankan characters – and you’d cast too -- and barf, and burp – if you had some of Dominic’s food inside you, let’s not kid ourselves. Not all of us have cast-iron guts and can absorb what could canonize you if you kept it down. And our Wi can’t help being White, either. Did he ever ask for the hoists he’s had to suffer, or complained about the lack of duty-of-care his kidnappers have shown him -- their kidnappee, after all? No. All he asked was a hideaway high above the stars so bright. At least he got that. And, though having to watchfully wait, at least he received the epiphs, too. With the epiphs, he could epiphicatedly dream, so I guess he had something going for him. And let’s not forget he’s Talls recorded as having said, ‘Just let me know if I’m breathing too much and I’ll stop’. Hey, what kidnappee or country like Australia gets a kidnappee so considerate? Is he a peach of a pooch, or what? ---------------------- Bill Reed is an Australian novelist, playwright and short-story writer with national awards for all three. He now lives in both Australia and Sri Lanka.
the Theatre of the Absurd and the Theatre of Cruelty are even more pervasively embodied in the plays of Alexander Buzo, Thomas Keneally and Bill Reed. In Buzo’s case it is Absurdism which is especially apparent; in Keneally and Reed, Artaudian ‘myth’ and language-in-space… ‘It was Reed in Burke’s Company who pioneered Artaudian techniques in a play of stature. If the play is given imaginative production, it powerfully exemplifies one of Artaud’s most famous metaphors. The figures on stage will suggest universal human victims burning at the stake, signaling through the flames.’ Professor Dennis Carroll Contemporary Australian Theatre, Currency Press