Bastille Or Bust
As I said in the Introduction, this one never really went anywhere because the company was winding down and there wasn’t enough energy or impetus left for us to keep putting these things on. But at least Katherine and I had one happy night putting together a list of potential names for our characters, in an attempt to get into the zone.
Aristocrats
The Abbé Nationale
The Bourbons (and their historical enemies, The Garibaldis)
Cardinal Sin
Count le Coste
Duc à l’Orange
Duchesse Potatoes
Palace guards: Guard de l’Est, Guard du Nord, Guard de Lyon, Guard di Lou
Le Chavalier Maurice
Madame de Pamplemousse
Milord Lucan, missing British aristo
The Igne Family
Acetyl Igne, a doxy (“This is my doxy, Acetyl Igne”)
Auberge Igne
Chlor Igne, a harpie
Gelat Igne
Maggaz Igne
Mezzan Igne
Nicot Igne
Ovalt Igne
Winifred, Comtesse de Ligne (Win de Ligne)
and her musical cousin Mandy Ligne
and her greasy cousin Vassy Ligne
and her sophisticated Israeli cousin Begin le Beg’Igne
Characters
Albert Trosse, a dead weight
Amphetamine (big)
Ananas
Arti père
and his son Arti fils
Bergerac, always wears a jersey
Bombazine
Canaille ’Ave Summore
Champignon, a fun guy to be with
Chanelle Tunnelle
Chateau de Windeaux
Citizen Smith
Claire de Lune
Claude Carpet, a cat owner
Clicquot, a widow
Crystalle Chandelier
Coche Nile
Coco Vin
Condom, a protector
Coup de Grasse and Meau de Grasse, a pair of gay young blades
De Chevaux, a horse trainer
De Cheveux, a bald person
Gillette Bloutou, in charge of the guillotine
Hugh Janus, a deformed beggar
Jacques, a frère
Jacques le Knife, a villain
Jacques de All Trades
Jacques et Gilles, mountain dwellers
Jacques Honoré, a storyteller
Jacques Ittin, a lazybones
Jean Connerie, a film star
Justine Tam, always late
Madame de Maintenance, a DIY expert
Madame Jetadore
The Man in the Iron Lung
The Man in the Woolly Balaclava
Margarine
Marie Banileau, a big-nosed singer
Marmite, my mate
Maurice Majeur
and Maurice Mineur, his younger brother
Mayonnaise
Melamine
Mère de Mal
Mère Malade, very sweet
Monsieur le Pont d’Avignon
Napoleon Blownaparte (that’s him all over)
Paco Rabane, a smelly Spaniard
Patricia, Duchesse de Foie Gras (Patti de Foie Gras)
Paul Tax, v unpopular
Père d’Alors
and his wife Mère d’Alors
and their son Zut d’Alors
Pierre d’Aterre, a landlord
Polly Thene
Pomme de Terre
René Neause, has a cold
Riboflavine, vegetarian
Sir Percy Pimpernel, the Scarlet Blakeney
Stella Artois, reassuringly expensive
Sue Lespontsdeparis, a beggarwoman
Sydney Cardboard Box (caught carriage crawling)
Thiamine, vegetarian
The Three Buccaneers: Porthole, Arsehole and Boghole
and their cousins: Camisole, Blackhole and Eaune Geaule
The Eau Family
Billy Eau, a straining cousin
Bim B’Eau, a dumb blonde
Bing Eau, a gambler
Blot Eau, a sot
Bucking Bronc’Eau, a cowboy
Cal Eau, an adolescent
Cally C’Eau, a dressmaker
Clue d’Eau, a detective
Cologne d’Eau, cousin from Germany
Columbeau, a detective
Cong Eau, cousin from Africa
Crim B’Eau, a cheerful white-bearded cousin
Dan Bileau, Cockney cousin
Dider Eau, a philosopher
Eau de Nile, a bit green around the gills
Fly M’eau, a jack the lad
Gigo l’Eau, a womanising cousin
Harry Eau, a detective
Harry Q’Eau, a vegetarian cousin
Hé h’Eau, a languid cousin
Hugh Guen’Eau, a displaced historical cousin
Incogneet Eau, a mysterious cousin
Ivan Eau, a Scottish cousin
Jean d’Eau, unknown cousin
Land Eau, a sailing cousin
Lewd Eau, a peeping Tom
Limpo P’Eau, friend of Cong Eau
Marie Eau, a mustachioed plumber
Pedal Eau, a Spanish cousin
Pong Eau, a cousin from Dalmatia
Quasimo d’Eau, a hunchbacked cousin
Ram B’Eau, a bodybuilder
Rouss Eau, a philosopher
Syke Eau, a mad cousin
Watt Eau, a silly arse English cousin
Westward Eau!, a cousin from Devon
Wun Hung l’Eau, a Chinese cousin
Yo Ho h’Eau, a Japanese cousin
Yves Eau, a sailor
Places
The Alley Oop
The Alley Palais
Avenue Eniomestogotou (any homes to go to)
Avenue Addinuff
Belle Vuezue
Boulevard St Germain de Fer
Boulevard St Michelle Ma Belle
Château Box
Château Mouche
Château Meat
Château Puppet
Château de Windeaus
Paris Paris, it’s a wonderful ville
Rue de Remarque
Audience Participation
Oh oui it is!
Oh non it isnt’!
Look derrière vous! / Elle est behind vous!
Take the Monet!
Ouvrez la boîte!
Let them eat Pot Noodle
Piaf with you! (go away)
ACT ONE
(USC a small public convenience somewhere in France. It is simply a board facing the AUDIENCE with ‘Toilette Publique’ written on it. It is raised up so that anyone using it is visible from the chest up and from the knees down.
Enter YOUNG PEASANT USR. He wears a hooped jersey, a beret and carries a strong of onions over his shoulder. He hangs the onions over the board and goes into the loo, staring out front, expressionless. He starts whistling ‘La Marseillaise’, contemplatively, but can’t get beyond the first two lines. He whistles it again, gets stuck at the same point, and shrugs.
Enter OLD PEASANT USL with a furled flag which he parks against the board. He enters loo, and YOUNG PEASANT politely shifts over to give him room. After a bit, YOUNG PEASANT whistles the same few bars, absent-mindedly. OLD PEASANT just as absent-mindedly whistles the next two. They look at each other and have a simultaneous flash of inspiration. Together they whistle the next few bars… but it fizzles out. They try again but again get stumped.
Enter YOUNG CRONE USR, confidently whistling the next phrase. She sets to work briskly flicking a duster over the urinal, briefly disconcerting YOUNG PEASANT and YOUNG PEASANT, then breezily joins them inside, adopting the same peeing pose as them. All three look at each other with a wild surmise, then gradually accept the situation and join together whistling ‘La Marseillaise’.
Enter OLD CRONE USL, sweeping with a broom. She stares expressionless at the three heads lustily whistling away. In full flow, they all three wave her over to join them. Warily at first, she crosses into the urinal, then gets caught up in the general triumphant mood. They all four reach the final chorus and stand there belting it out at full volume. Finally they reprise the chorus, simultaneously marching out of the urinal, all adjusting their dress. They form a heroic tableau centre stage, each waving their props (OLD PEASANT’s flag turns out to be a revolutionary emblem). They end the song with a triumphant triple stamp of their feet in unison, then beam broadly at each other before suddenly going shy again and shuffling about, humming the tune softly to themselves.
Enter DSL JACQUES HONORE)
JAC: Ah, the Marseillaise! Battle song of the Republic and paean of victory for the Glorious Revolution. (to the OTHERS) You can stop peein’ now. (They fall silent) Breathes there a man with soul so dead who even now can listen to those stirring strains without getting a lump? I know I can’t, not even when it’s performed by such a revoting mob as this.
MOB: ’Ere, who are you calling a mob?
JAC: You’re meant to be representing the common people aren’t you?
MOB Common people? We’ll have you know, mate, we are a frieze commemorating the glorious triumph of freedom over oppression.
JAC: If you’re a frieze, then freeze. It’s my turn now.
MOB: And who are you when you’re chez vous?
JAC: I am your narrator for the evening. Jacques Honoré, à votre service.
MOB: Jackanory? Tell us another one!
JAC: Shut up. Yes, the French Revolution, that child prodigy of European Romanticism, whose convulsive parturition in turn brought forth –
MOB: Convulsive what?
JAC: Parturition. It means –
MOB: (scoffing) We know what it means. (Muttering amongst themselves) What does parturition mean?
JAC: Childbirth.
MOB: We knew that. Eurgh!
JAC: - which brought forth those three great A’s – liberté, egalité, fraternité.
MOB: What about the three C’s then?
JAC: Three C’s?
MOB: Canapé, consommé and crudité
JAC: If I might continue?
MOB: Soyez le bienvenu.
JAC: To begin at the beginning, France in the eighteenth century was a country in turmoil. The middle classes had grown up under the yoke of an ancient feudal/aristocratic oligarchy whose ossified systems were too rigidified to accommodate it, while the disenfranchised peasantry were suffocating beneath the weight of increasingly savage taxes imposed by a distant and uncaring nobility.
MOB: Er, couldn’t you begin halfway through? We’ll be here all night.
JAC: Louis XVI had inherited a practically bankrupt throne and, safe in his luxurious fortress at Versailles, was steadfastly refusing his ministers’ advice to bring in reforms. Everywhere peasants were starving. (To MOB, who haven’t been paying attention) That’s your cue.
MOB: Oh. We’re starving!
JAC: Many were up in arms.
MOB: We’re up in arms!
JAC: Those who weren’t revolting already were at least pretty disgusting. (The MOB pick their noses, scratch their bums, sniff their armpits etc) In short, the whole country was a powder keg waiting to explode, but just what was the spark which would set off the whole shooting match? Was it the Treaty of Paris which signed away lucrative French empires in India and North America to the British?
MOB: Yeah, lousy Brits!
JAC: No it wasn’t.
MOB: Oh, pardon us.
JAC: Was it the King’s attempt to close down the newly convened National Assembly, meeting to hammer out a more equitable constitution?
MOB: Yeah, lousy King!
JAC: No. So was it then the sudden plague of lice that attacked every rural hovel and left half the countryside bald and itching?
MOB: Yeah, lousy – er – lice!
JAC: Not that either. It was – garlic!
MOB: Garlic?
JAC: Yes, at last it can be revealed, it was garlic that brought the whole nation from its knees to its feet in a single concerted upsurge of nationalism.
(Pause)
MOB: Garlic?
JAC: Our story starts on the quayside of Weston Super Merde, a small coastal resort in the Mediterranean province of Quiche Lorraine. On this quiet July morning the local peasantry dozes blissfully in the sun, ignorant of the momentous events they are about to put in train. Right, everyone look ignorant.
(The MOB manage this quite easily)
And that was all we wrote…