Tom Stoppard - Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead

GUIL: And what' that, in this case?

PLAYER: It never varies-we aim at the point where everyone who is marked for death dies.

GUIL: Marked?

PLAYER: Between "just desserts' and "tragic irony" we are given quite a lot of scope for our particular talent. Generally speaking, things have gone about as far as they can possibly go when things have got about as bad as they reasonably get. ( He switches on a smile. )

GUIL: Who decides?

PLAYER ( switching off his smile ) : Decides? It is written.

He turns away. GUILgrabs him and spins him back violently.

( Unflustered. ) Now if you're going to be subtle, we'll miss each other in the dark. I'm referring to oral tradition. So to speak.

GUILreleases him.

We're tragedians, you see. We follow directions-there is no choice involved. The bad end unhappily, the good unluckily. That is what tragedy means. ( Calling. ) Positions!

The TRAGEDIANS have taken up positions for the continuation Of the mime: which in this case means a love scene, sexual and passionate, between the QUEEN and the POISONER - KING .

PLAYER: Go!

The lovers begin. The PLAYER contributes a breathless commentary for ROS and GUIL.

Having murdered his brother and wooed the widow-the poisoner mounts the throne! Here we see him and his queen give rein to their unbridled passion! She little knowing that the man she holds in her arms-!

ROS: Oh, I say-here-really! You can't do that!

PLAYER: Why not?

ROS: Well, really-I mean, people want to be entertained-they don't come expecting sordid and gratuitous filth.

PLAYER: You're wrong-they do! Murder, seduction and incest –what do you want-jokes?

ROS: I want a good story, with a beginning, middle and end.

PLAYER ( to GUIL) : And you?

GUIL: I'd prefer art to mirror life, if it's all the same to you.

PLAYER: It's all the same to me, sir. ( To the grappling LOVERS) All right, no need to indulge yourselves. ( They get up. To GUIL : ) I come on in a minute. Lucretius, nephew to the king! ( Turns his attention to the TRAGEDIANS) Next!

They disport themselves to accommodate the next piece mime, which consists of the PLAYER himself exhibiting a excitable anguish (choreographed, stylized) leading to an impassioned scene with the QUEEN (cf. "The Closet Scene," Shakespeare Act III, scene iv) and a very stylized reconstruction of a POLONIUS figure being stabbed behind the arras (the murdered KING to stand in for POLONIUS ) while the PLAYER himself continues his breathless commentary for the benefit of ROS and GUIL .

PLAYER: Lucretius, nephew to the king… usurped by his uncle and shattered by his mother's incestuous marriage loses.. his reason… throwing the court into turmoil and disarray as he alternates between bitter melancholy and unrestricted lunacy… staggering from the suicidal ( a pose ) to the homicidal ( here he kills " POLONIUS " ) … he at last confronts his mother and in a scene of provocative ambiguity- ( a somewhat oedipal embrace ) begs her to repent and recant. ( He springs up, still talking. ) The King- ( he pushes forward the POISONER - KING) tormented by guilt-haunted by fear –decides to despatch his nephew to England-and entrusts this undertaking to two smiling accomplices-friends– two spies

He has swung round to bring together the POISONER - KING and the two cloaked TRAGEDIANS the latter kneel and accept a scroll from the KING.

–giving them a letter to present to the English court and so they depart-on board ship

The two SPIES position themselves on either side of the PLAYER , and the three of them sway gently in unison, the motion of a boat; and then the PLAYERdetaches himself.

–and they arrive

One spy shades his eyes at the horizon.

–and disembark-and present themselves before the English king- ( He wheels round. ) The English king-

An exchange of headgear creates the ENGLISH KING from the remaining player-that is, the PLAYERwho played the original murdered king.

But where is the Prince? Where indeed? The plot has thickened-a twist of fate and cunning has put into their hands a letter that seals their deaths!

The two SPIES present their letter, the ENGLISH KING reads it and orders their deaths. They stand up as the PLAYERwhips off their cloaks preparatory to execution.

Traitors hoist by their own petard?-or victims of the gods? –we shall never know!

The whole mime has been fluid and continuous but now ROS moves forward and brings it to a pause. What brings ROS forward is the fact that under their cloaks the two SPIES are wearing coats identical to those worn by ROS and GUIL , whose coats are now covered by their cloaks. ROS approaches "his" spy doubtfully. He does not quite understand why the coats are familiar. ROS stands close, touches the coat, thoughtfully…

ROS: Well, if it isn't-! No, wait a minute, don't tell me-it's a long time since-where was it? Ah, this is taking me back to-when was it? I know you, don't I? I never forget a face- ( he looks into the spy's face ) … not that I know yours, that is. For a moment I thought-no, I don't know you, do I? Yes, I'm afraid you're quite wrong. You must have mistaken me for someone else.

GUIL meanwhile has approached the other spy, brow creased in thought.

PLAYER ( to GUIL) : Are you familiar with this play?

GUIL: No.

PLAYER: A slaughterhouse-eight corpses all told. It brings out the best in us.

GUIL ( tense, progressively rattled during the whole mime and commentary ) : You!-What do you know about death?

PLAYER: It's what the actors do best. They have to exploit whatever talent is given to them, and their talent is dying. They can die heroically, comically, ironically, slowly, suddenly, disgustingly, charmingly, or from a great height. My own talent is more general. I extract significance from melodrama, a significance which it does not in fact contain; but occasionally, from out of this matter, there escapes a thin beam of light that, seen at the right angle, can crack shell of mortality.

ROS: Is that all they can do-die?

PLAYER: No, no-they kill beautifully. In fact some of them Id even better than they die. The rest die better than they They're a team.

ROS: Which ones are which?

PLAYER: There's not much in it.

GUIL ( tear, derision ) : Actors! The mechanics of cheap melodrama! That isn't death! ( More quietly. ) You scream and choke and sink to your knees, but it doesn't bring ~ home to anyone-it doesn't catch them unawares and start the whisper in their skulls that says-"One day you are going to die." ( He straightens up. ) You die so many times; how can you expect them to believe in your death?

PLAYER: On the contrary, it's the only kind they do believe. They're conditioned to it. I had an actor once who was condemned to hang for stealing a sheep– –or a lamb, I forget which-so I got permission to have him hanged in the middle of a play-had to change the plot a bit but I thought it would be effective, you know-and you wouldn't believe it, he just wasn't convincing! It was impossible to suspend one's disbelief-and what with the audience jeering and throwing peanuts, the whole thing was a disaster!-he did nothing but cry all the time-right out of character-just stood there and cried… Never again.

In good burnout he has already turned back to the mime: the two SPIES awaiting execution at the hands of the PLAYER, who takes his dagger out of his belt.