Face to Face
A short, somewhat anachronistic play about the horrors of
war, mistaken identity and the wonders of modern technology (especially in the
field of corrective plastic surgery)
It is night and dark
except for the light – the light of the moon. Daisy is sitting in a rocking
chair but she is not rocking, she is still, dead still, but is she dead? No,
she is not, although between you and me sometimes she wishes she were, she is
merely asleep, having a nightmare, a truly horrendous nightmare. Really bloody
good acting is required at this point to convey the contents of Daisy’s dream,
as it includes vital clues to her character and portentous symbols about what
is come, e.g the loss of a loved one, the folly of war and dirty sex with a
clown. Suddenly Daisy hears a sound and stirs – it is the sound of a tired man
returning from the war, the Second World War, although it’s virtually
impossible to tell which war from the sound. Enter a man. For dramatic purposes
I am not sure who it is.
Daisy: Maurice?
Maurice, is that you? Maurice?
Clive: It
is I Clive.
(I am now at liberty
to reveal that the man is Clive, Clive Ham, a brilliant vegetarian soldier with
an unusual penchant for wood)
Daisy: Oh.
I thought it was Maurice.
Clive: It
is I Clive but with the face of Maurice.
Daisy: I
see. I understand and yet I don’t.
Clive: How
can I say this? Maurice is dead.
Daisy: No! He can’t be! Say it ain’t
so! Your drug is a heartbreaker! My love is a life taker!
Clive: I’m afraid it is so. Maurice didn’t make
it but he wanted me to have his face. Here, here and here. Daisy, my darling, can you still love me?
Daisy: Oh, Mr Ham!
Clive: Please call me Clive.
Daisy: Very well, Clive. The truth is I
have never loved you. Secretly, I have always been in
love with Mr Eggs.
Clive: You mean Maurice?
Daisy: Yes, Maurice Eggs, Mr Ham.
Clive: Pray,
what was it you loved about him?
Daisy: His
face.
Clive: This
one?
Daisy: Yes.
At least now I can tell you to his face.
Daisy and Clive look
at each other longingly and confusedly, and then kiss - perhaps forever but we
shall never know, as this, my war torn, lovelorn friends, is the end of the
play. Fade to black, to the sounds of Flight of the Bumblebee. Blackout. The end.
