The Unplugging Read online

  Also by Yvette Nolan:

  Annie Mae's Movement

  The Unplugging © Copyright 2014 by Yvette Nolan

  “A Case Of You”

  Words and Music by Joni Mitchell

  © 1971 (Renewed) Crazy Crow Music

  All Rights Reserved

  Used by Permission of Alfred Music Publishing Co., Inc.

  Playwrights Canada Press

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  Cover design by Leah Renihan

  Book design by Blake Sproule

  The Alegreya serif typeface used was designed by Juan Pablo del Peral. The typefaces is used under the SIL Open font license version 1.1.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Nolan, Yvette

  The unplugging [electronic resource] / Yvette Nolan.

  A play.

  Electronic monograph in multiple formats.

  Issued also in print format.

  ISBN 978-1-77091-133-8 (PDF).--ISBN 978-1-77091-134-5 (EPUB)

  I. Title

  PS8577.O426U67 2013 C812'.54 C2012-907940-5

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council (OAC)—an agency of the Government of Ontario, which last year funded 1,681 individual artists and 1,125 organizations in 216 communities across Ontario for a total of $52.8 million—the Ontario Media Development Corporation, and the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.

  for Kugler who gave me the story

  Donna who gave me the deadline

  Randy who gave me the reason

  and Philip who gave me the space

  If Yvette Nolan is a bit of a seer, a fortuneteller, as I suspect she and many writers are, our society is cruising toward an unplugging of our own. Halfway into this play in your hands, the character Bernadette speaks of natural disasters. She claims that she foresaw the eponymous “unplugging,” a term she invents to describe the sudden termination of all the technology in their world: “I used to think of it as the earth waking and shaking like some great dog, and all the machines and wires being shaken off like so many fleas. The earthquakes in Haiti and Japan, the disappearance of the Maldives… But that was really negative. The unplugging is more—benign.” She paints a vivid picture of the chaos that ensued, and, chillingly, admits that despite sensing its arrival, she didn't prepare for the unplugging. This strikes an uneasy chord, articulating that unspoken, creeping feeling of disquiet with our own digital dependence. Just during the rehearsals and premiere run of this play, we saw major earthquakes on the West Coast in the Haida Gwaii region, and Hurricane Sandy in the Caribbean and along the US East Coast, forcing closed the New York Stock Exchange, flooding the subway system, and plunging Manhattan into the dark, unplugging millions.

  Yvette is an astute observer of the everyday and of the larger global movements that form and inform our lives and politics. The Unplugging speaks to both ends of that spectrum, the small, domestic negotiations between people and the vast landscape of our negotiations with Nature. A negotiation we seem to be losing right now. She prompts us to think about our relationship to the land, our relationship to knowledge and how we acquire it and to the construction and nurturing of community. It's an urgent prompt, but she isn't reproving us. She's posing a genuine question about our future to artists and audiences. Bernadette, Elena and Seamus are like us—just as smart and savvy and stranded, as many of us would be in a global—or domestic—crisis.

  In the spirit of the play and its strong case for sharing knowledge freely, I'm going to pass on some things I learned about the play during rehearsals. The non-verbal life in this story is as important as the spoken text. The passage of time between scenes is a gift to a director and her team. Explore them as you would a scene. The spare stage directions for these transitions are an invitation for the creative team (and reader) to invent the physical and visual world of the play. Everything can be mined: unspoken conversations between characters, the presence of nature, the labour of surviving, even the specific relationships the characters have with objects—a favourite knife, a faulty zipper, a misplaced… etc. All this is fruitful territory to explore in rehearsals; give it the time and space to breathe and you will create a credible and rich world for these characters to inhabit.

  Writers, in my experience, are very deliberate about their work. There isn't a word in this play that Yvette hasn't considered. Enter this universe with an open mind, and when confronted with contradictions, embrace them. The emotional complexity of the characters lies in this reconciling. There's action and story in the white space on the page. Listen closely and you will hear Yvette as if she is sitting right next to you—her unique rhythms, her sly humour, her generous politics.

  —Rachel Ditor, Literary Manager, Arts Club Theatre Company

  An excerpt of this play, originally titled Two Old Women, was read at Native Earth Performing Arts's Weesageechak Begins to Dance XXII on January 28, 2010, under the direction of Randy Reinholz, with performances by Maev Beatty, Patti Shaughnessy and James Cade.

  The play underwent a further workshop at the Playwrights Theatre Centre in Vancouver in April 2010, once again under the direction of Randy Reinholz, with performances by Margo Kane, Marie Clements and Troy Kozuki.

  In June 2010, the playwright was a member of the Banff Playwrights Colony. Two Old Women was read there by Val Pearson, Elinor Holt and Stafford Perry under the direction of Rachel Ditor.

  In October 2010, Two Old Women was read at the Arts Club Theatre ReACT festival, once again under the direction of Rachel Ditor, with Margo Kane, Marie Clements and Charlie Gallant.

  The play was read at the University of Toronto's Festival of Original Theatre on February 4, 2011, with performances by Tara Beagan, Michaela Washburn and James Cade.

  The play received public readings at the Matariki Festival in Wellington, New Zealand, on June 26, 2010, and at Reverie Productions in New York City on June 29, 2011.

  Ongoing dramaturgy has been provided by DD Kugler and Rachel Ditor.

  The Unplugging premiered at the Arts Club Theatre (Artistic Director Bill Millerd) on the Revue Stage in Vancouver, Canada, on October 17, 2012, with the following company:

  Elena: Margo Kane

  Bern: Jenn Griffin

  Seamus: Anton Lipovetsky

  Director: Lois Anderson

  Set designer: Drew Facey

  Costume designer: Vanessa Imeson

  Lighting designer: Jeff Harrison

  Sound designer: Alison Jenkins

  Dramaturg: Rachel Ditor

  Stage manager: Pamela Jakobs

  Apprentice stage manager: Stephanie Meine

  Characters

  Elena

  Bern

  Seamus

  Note on the Punctuation

  I have tried to capture the way people actually talk, in bits and pieces, generally with fewer full stops, and less complete thoughts. Conversation like a badminton game, keeping the birdie in the air.
<
br />   part of you pours out of me

  in these lines from time to time

  —Joni Mitchell

  BANISHED

  Moon. Cold. Silver light. The sound of footsteps on snow. The snow squeaks with the footsteps, the way it does when it is so cold. But a dry cold. Two women walk on. BERN is carrying a large pack and dragging a child's wooden toboggan, laden with sleeping bags, a tarp, other accumulated supplies. ELENA is carrying nothing. Both are wearing parkas, big boots. Halfway across, ELENA sits in the snow. BERN keeps walking off. A moment of ELENA sitting, stupefied.

  BERN

  Elena?

  BERN rushes back on.

  Elena. Are you hurt?

  ELENA just sits.

  Ah. Just your feelings. Come on. Get up. You will freeze to death sitting here. And I will freeze to death standing over you trying to convince you to get up and move. Come on. Elena. Come on.

  I can't start a fire here. It's too open, too windy. Even if I could find enough wood. Come on, we're close now.

  ELENA

  they say freezing to death is nice.

  BERN

  sure they do.

  ELENA

  they say you just get sleepy, then slip away

  BERN

  what they? Who is this they?

  ELENA

  common wisdom

  BERN

  common wisdom. They probably just say that to comfort family members who cannot bear the thought of their people suffering.

  ELENA

  they say—

  BERN

  For godssake, Elena, I'm from Winnipeg and you're from Saskatoon. We've both come pretty close to freezing. How nice is that memory?

  ELENA

  They say bleeding to death is very nice.

  BERN

  Oh yeah, exsanguination is great. I almost bled to death the last time I miscarried. It was great. That's when you get very sleepy. Come on. Get up… Besides, if you opened a vein here it would probably freeze over in seconds.

  ELENA

  Bernadette, just leave me. I don't want to go on.

  BERN

  I don't want to go on. How very—dramatic—of you. We must go on.

  ELENA

  you go on.

  BERN

  I am not going on without you.

  ELENA

  you say that.

  BERN

  I mean it.

  ELENA

  It's okay, Bernadette. You don't have to take care of me. You'll do better by yourself.

  BERN

  I am not abandoning you. Besides. I don't think that's true.

  ELENA

  what?

  BERN

  that I will do better by myself. I need you, Elena.

  ELENA

  me? A useless old dried-up—

  BERN

  stop. Stop that.

  ELENA

  That's why we are out here, isn't it? Exiled? Because we are old.

  BERN

  We are not old.

  ELENA

  that's what they said

  BERN

  Yes, well. Times have changed. Fifty is the new eighty, I guess.

  ELENA

  This is not how I thought it would end.

  BERN

  It's not over. We're not over.

  ELENA

  Well, you're a pushy broad so I guess it's not over for me yet. But the world. It's not looking good for the world.

  BERN

  Some say the world will end in fire,

  Some say in ice.

  From what I've tasted of desire

  I hold with those who favor fire.

  But if it had to perish twice,

  I think I know enough of hate

  To say that for destruction ice

  Is also great

  And would suffice.

  ELENA

  nice

  BERN

  funny.

  ELENA

  (beat) Did you just make that up?

  BERN

  I wish. A man named Frost.

  ELENA

  ha.

  BERN

  ha.

  ELENA

  I guess he's dead now.

  BERN

  oh yes, he's been dead—oh—fifty years

  ELENA

  oh. Lucky him.

  BERN

  Elena.

  ELENA

  probably died in his bed surrounded by his family

  BERN

  Elena.

  ELENA

  in his warm, clean bed, surrounded by his family who were sad to see him go, tears streaming down their faces… he probably died of old age, not banished from his community, driven out like a dog

  BERN

  there were tears streaming down your daughter's face

  ELENA

  pft

  BERN

  and Archer's

  ELENA

  he's a good boy

  BERN

  he is a good boy.

  he left us this

  She reaches into her pack and pulls out a hatchet.

  ELENA

  a hatchet?

  BERN

  his hatchet

  ELENA

  Bernadette, the world is full of hatchets. Hatchets and knives and guns and tons of useless dead things. Dead cars, dead stereos, dead computers, dead telephones, dead rockets, dead dead dead.

  BERN

  It's the thought that counts.

  ELENA

  I suppose.

  BERN

  and the world may be full of hatchets, but—they may not be as easy to put your hands on as they once were. Can't really stroll into the Canadian Tire and browse in the camping section.

  ELENA

  No. I guess not. Anything that useful must be long gone.

  BERN

  So it's a fine gift.

  ELENA

  It is a fine gift.

  BERN

  Come on. I think we're close.

  ELENA

  Close to what? There is no house. Who would live up here? Mad trappers and renegades.

  BERN

  Yup, and old hippies and back-to-the-landers and apocalyptists.

  ELENA

  Nice company you keep.

  BERN

  lucky for us. Come on, Elena. This is all starting to look familiar—

  ELENA

  oh my bones.

  BERN

  Elena.

  ELENA

  what. Fine. I am coming.

  SURVIVAL

  Inside the log house. BERN tends a simple, old airtight wood stove. It might be a top-loader. It has no glass, no way to watch the fire within, its primary function to heat the house quickly. ELENA just sits.

  BERN

  he built it before they ran the power in up here. Way easier to heat, light and ventilate than to try and adapt something that was never intended to be without electricity

  BERN pours a cup of tea and takes it to ELENA.

  bless the last hiker or hunter or whoever left tea

  ELENA

  probably kill me

  BERN

  I don't think tea goes bad… I don't recall ever hearing of anyone dying of tea that had gone off

  BERN pours herself a cup and smells it.

  smells okay. Woodsy. I wonder if that is normal.

  ELENA

  google it

  BERN

  ha.

  ELENA

  think of all the information that disappeared, in a blink. All
the things we stopped writing down and putting in books, all the things we stopped teaching our children, all the things we need to know now, like, what is the shelf life of tea, and if it passes its best-before date, can it kill you. I hope so.

  ELENA drinks.

  BERN continues to caretake, bringing in wood, tending the fire, putting a pot of snow on the wood stove maybe, enumerating a meagre pile of supplies: the hatchet, a lighter that still works, a couple of cans of vegetables, a package of noodles, a half box of salt, a roll of toilet paper, a box of wooden matches. She smells the matches to see if they are dry and still usable. She examines the cans for bulges or leaks, best-before dates. ELENA sits and drinks tea.

  it's going to be dark soon

  BERN

  oh, you're still with us, are you?

  ELENA

  you haven't touched yours

  BERN

  Elena, I'm working.

  ELENA

  Sit for a second. Relax.

  BERN

  Relax? Relax? I can't relax, Elena. It will be dark soon. I haven't found any candles or lamps or any way to make light. I don't know if there's someone out there who also thinks this house makes a great shelter, and doesn't care that we were here first, because he's bigger and stronger than I am. We don't have anything to eat, not really, and it's December, it's December, Elena, at least I think it's December, which means there are five or six months before we can grow anything, or harvest anything. I need you, Elena, I need you to help. I can't do it all anymore, I can't do all the scrounging and the encouraging and the planning and the hoping.

  ELENA nods. She gets out of her chair, goes to BERN, indicates she should sit. BERN sits. ELENA goes to retrieve BERN's tea, carries it to her where she sits.

  ELENA

  You should drink it now. While it still has some warmth in it. Plus you haven't had enough water today. You'll get dehydrated.

  BERN takes her tea, smells it. She is unconvinced.

  It's fine, Bernadette. (beat) That woodsy smell is just staleness. Happens after four or five years. But there's no mould. Whoever left it sealed it well.

  BERN drinks.

  BERN

  Ahhh.

  ELENA

  See? Not bad.