Kill Me Now

  Kill Me Now

  Brad Fraser

  Playwrights Canada Press

  Toronto

  Contents

  On Characters and Casting

  Production History

  Characters

  The Setting

  Kill Me Now

  Thanks

  About the Author

  Copyright

  For Alex. For Rudy and John.

  On Characters and Casting

  By Brad Fraser

  I am a queer mixed-race person from a rough background. I grew up in roadside motels in northern BC and attended a dizzying array of schools in my early years. The people I encountered during that time, and throughout my life, were young and old, good and bad, short and tall. They were able-bodied and disabled. They were male and female and trans, straight, gay, and queer, bi and asexual. Some were even straight, middle-class, and white, the group I least related to. They were my family, my friends, and the citizens of the many towns we passed through. And, like me, many of them were outsiders in some way.

  I am a writer. I tell the stories of these people. Outsider stories. Our stories. Not once did it occur to me to ask if I had a “right” to portray these people. Portraying people is what writers do. I chose to write for the theatre not only because of my love of the form but because it has always been the place where those who live on the margins of society are first able to share and find their voice.

  In the context of my background and experience, I’m baffled by the judgmental tenor of the current controversy over physically abled actors playing physically challenged characters. Not that we shouldn’t be having this discussion—of course we should—but let’s do it in a nuanced and pragmatic way.

  Physical disability is a very broad spectrum. Each individual manifestation of disability has its own attributes. Theatre also has almost infinite variety. Each production has its own requirements. Each character has its own demands.

  In the theatre, unlike the electronic media, an actor’s job is not just to act, but also to control the flow and pace of the play. What is seen on stage is only the tip of a much larger backstage iceberg of fast-paced manoeuvring that involves racing around in the dark, lightning-quick changes, and often a great deal of physical and mental dexterity. Actors, whether able-bodied or challenged, have to rise to these challenges, or the production will fail.

  This is not to suggest that disabled actors can’t do theatre, but that the way in which it is done will vary greatly by individual and role, and, in the commercial theatre at least, this will always come down to a question of time and money.

  Acting is one of the hardest professions in the world. Most of those in the business will know far more rejection than success. It doesn’t matter if you look the part, you’ve lived the part, or you are the part—the director and producers will go with whoever they think will lead to highest ticket sales, and ninety-nine percent of the time the actor hired will not be you, regardless of race, gender, sex, or physical capability. Rejection, for actors, is an equal opportunity experience.

  Equating able-bodied actors playing physically challenged characters with historic blackface is a false equivalence. Disability, like queerness, is potentially found in everyone regardless of race or gender. Further complicating the issue, disability, like race and gender, is a mutable and evolving thing. Advanced prosthetics let people who were once considered disabled outperform the average able-bodied person. Intermarriage and the mixing of the races increasingly makes race and skin colour a more complicated issue. Gender is also fluid. Men can become women, women can become men, and those who choose not to identify as either are fighting for their own recognition.

  Can Othello only be played by someone who had two black parents? What if one parent was of another background? Just how black does Othello have to be? Conversely, it is equally valid to ask if Willy Loman has to have both of his hands, or if he has to be able to walk without an aid, if he has to be able to see, or even if he has to be white. Can the lead dancer in the chorus of the latest mega-musical lead the troupe on advanced prosthetics rather than legs? How does a director communicate ideas to a deaf and mute actress who is playing Helen Keller? How versatile does the actor need to be in a single show; will they be playing multiple characters and how will that work? What if the character is only differently abled for part of the narrative? Can a disabled actor play the able-bodied part as convincingly as an able-bodied actor can portray the disability? If Joey in Kill Me Now should only be played by an actor with a true physical challenge, then must the actor playing Jake also suffer from spinal stenosis?

  The answers to these questions can only be found in the context of each individual production, process, and performer, not in endless reductive comments in the corporate press and social media. They’ll only be found when the theatre truly opens itself up to the possibility of actors with physical disabilities playing parts where their physical ability is irrelevant or interpretational. Casting is all about context.

  As for those who complain that plays like Kill Me Now don’t reflect the specific truth of their own experience with life or disability, and who denigrate the authenticity of challenging dramatic narratives that don’t tell the stories of their own less tragic lives, I would remind them that theatre is drama, drama needs conflict, and there aren’t a lot of successful plays about families who live conflict free and carry on cheerfully despite difficulties. Criticizing my work for its dramatic failings is fair game, but criticizing it because it doesn’t tell the story of your particular personal experience speaks to a lack of understanding of how plays work and what they’re for, and, frankly, a rather telling narcissism. All dramatic characters are metaphorical constructs that serve the needs of a story. All artists work with their imaginations. To ask anyone to limit that imagination for political purposes seems to me the worst kind of oppression of all.

  In the end, this is an important and necessary discussion, and one that I believe will eventually lead to positive change. But as we engage these issues let’s keep in mind that there is no blanket solution or easy answer. Solutions will only be found by considering specific performers in specific productions, not with the sweeping imposition of universal policies.

  Context. It’s everything.

  Kill Me Now was first produced by Workshop West Playwright’s Theatre in Edmonton, Alberta, on September 6, 2013, with the following cast and creative team:

  Jake Sturdy:

  David Horak

  Joey Sturdy:

  Matthew Hulshof

  Twyla Sturdy:

  Melissa Thingelstad

  Robyn Dartona:

  Linda Grass

  Rowdy Akers:

  Patrick Lundeen

  Director:

  Brad Fraser

  Costume and lighting design:

  Guido Tondino and Linda Grass

  Set design:

  David Skelton

  Sound design:

  Dave Clark

  Stage manager:

  Betty Hushlak

  The play was first produced in the United States by Kaliyuga Arts at the Cross Street Theatre Center in Hudson, NY, on October 3, 2013, with the following cast and creative team:

 
Jake Sturdy:

  Steven Patterson

  Joey Sturdy:

  Samuel Hoeksema

  Twyla Sturdy:

  Kay Capasso

  Robyn Dartona:

  Molly Parker-Myers

  Rowdy Akers:

  JD Scalzo

  Director and designer:

  John Sowle

  Production stage manager:

  Jen Dobies

  Costume coordinator:

  Sarah Schaeffer

  The first European performance of Kill Me Now took place

  on February 19, 2015, at Park Theatre, London, UK, with the following cast and creative team:

  Jake Sturdy:

  Greg Wise

  Joey Sturdy:

  Oliver Gomm

  Twyla Sturdy:

  Charlotte Harwood

  Robyn Dartona:

  Anna Wilson-Jones

  Rowdy Akers:

  Jack McMullen

  Director:

  Braham Murray

  Producer:

  Jamil Jivanjee

  Design:

  Juliet Shillingford

  Lighting design:

  Chris Davey

  Sound design:

  Mike Walker

  Composer:

  Tayo Akinbode

  Movement director:

  Fergus Early

  Casting director:

  Sarah Hughes

  Associate sound design:

  Harry Butcher

  Voice and accent coach:

  Yvonne Morley

  Assistant voice and accent coach:

  Heather Hartnett

  Production assistant:

  Kathryn Stonebridge

  Characters

  JAKE STURDY

  Late thirties to early forties.

  JOEY STURDY

  Seventeen. Born with an extra chromosome which he is severely disabled by, particularly his hands, which he cannot use to grasp with but can use to poke.

  TWYLA STURDY

  Early thirties.

  ROBYN DARTONA

  Forties.

  ROWDY AKERS

  Eighteen. Rowdy is affected by fetal alcohol syndrome as well as other issues.

  The Setting

  The Sturdy home including Joey’s very specifically appointed bathroom and other places.

  Darkness. The sound of water running. Lights rise on a large tub filled with water. JAKE is bathing JOEY.

  JAKE:

  Not too hot?

  JOEY:

  Nuh. (No.)

  JAKE:

  You’re sure?

  JOEY:

  Yuh!

  JAKE:

  Deep enough?

  JOEY:

  Yuh.

  JAKE:

  Okay then.

  JAKE turns the water off.

  Soap. Shampoo. Washcloth.

  JOEY:

  Nuh sampuh. (No shampoo.)

  JAKE:

  Okay. It’s clean enough. How was school?

  JOEY:

  Nukuh. (Okay.)

  JAKE:

  Did you get into any trouble?

  JOEY:

  Nuh.

  JAKE:

  You didn’t push Daisy?

  JOEY:

  See spih uh muh. (She spit on me.)

  JAKE:

  Why?

  JOEY:

  Ah nuh nuh. (I don’t know.)

  JAKE:

  Joey.

  JOEY:

  See uh how. (She’s a whore.)

  JAKE:

  Joey!

  JOEY:

  See sah ah hungy. (She said I’m ugly.)

  JAKE:

  Why would she say that?

  JOEY:

  See uh how.

  JAKE:

  Buddy please.

  JOEY:

  Ah guh mah. (I get mad.)

  JAKE:

  You have to be careful Joey. You’re too big to get mad like that. It scares people.

  JOEY:

  Ah hungy.

  JAKE:

  No.

  JOEY:

  Flee. (Freak.)

  JAKE:

  You’re a nice guy. You have to let people see that. Especially the girls.

  JOEY:

  Noh Dezzy see fah ad soopuh. (Not Daisy she’s fat and stupid.)

  JAKE:

  What people say doesn’t matter. You know that.

  JOEY:

  Muh buh hud. (My butt hurts.)

  JAKE:

  Have you been wiping it properly?

  JOEY:

  Ah tah. (I try.)

  JAKE:

  I’ll put some cream on it after we wash.

  JOEY:

  Sanks. (Thanks.)

  JAKE:

  Remember get as much toilet paper around your fingers as you can.

  JOEY:

  Ah cand gid id owv avda. (I can’t get it off after.)

  JAKE:

  Then get Phillip to do it. He’s at school to help you.

  JOEY:

  Ah duh luh kih. (I don’t like it.)

  JAKE:

  You’re okay with me doing it.

  JOEY:

  Yuh muh dah. (You’re my dad.)

  JAKE:

  Yes I am.

  JOEY:

  Ooh duh thik ah hungy. (You don’t think I’m ugly.)

  JAKE:

  I think you’re a very handsome boy.

  JOEY:

  Yuh shih. (You’re sick.)

  JAKE:

  I am. Hold still so I can clean your ears.

  JOEY:

  Dah!

  JAKE rinses JOEY.

  JAKE:

  That’s not so bad. Hold on just a bit more there.

  JOEY:

  Kehn. (Clean.)

  JAKE:

  Yes and—uh—excited.

  JOEY:

  Bonuh. (Boner.)

  JAKE:

  Yeah.

  JOEY:

  Suruh. (Sorry.)

  JAKE:

  No it’s—don’t worry. Completely natural at your age.

  JOEY:

  Ah nuh seshulah matuh. (I’m now sexually mature.)

  JAKE:

  They go away.

  JOEY:

  Wun sin ah wah. (Once in a while.)

  JAKE:

  The services might be able to send someone to help with that.

  JOEY:

  Weewee? (Really?)

  JAKE:

  There are professionals who do that sort of thing.

&n
bsp; JOEY:

  Nuh.

  JAKE:

  You’re sure? Some of them are very pretty.

  JOEY:

  Nuwuh wunuh luh ah muh. (No one wants to look at me.)

  JAKE:

  There are also machines they can use—

  JOEY:

  Mushuh? (Machines?)

  JAKE:

  Apparently. I’m not quite sure how they work—

  JOEY

  : Uh duh wun sub muchuh uh muh dig. (I don’t want some machine on my dick.)

  JAKE:

  You can’t rub it against anything or something like that?

  JOEY:

  Nuh. Un muh hunsh— (No. And my hands—)

  JAKE:

  Maybe this will help.

  JAKE sprays JOEY down with cold water. JOEY screams in shock, laughing.

  JOEY:

  Dah. Staw. Staw! (Dad. Stop. Stop!)

  JAKE:

  It isn’t that cold.

  JOEY:

  Yuh mun. (You’re mean.)

  JAKE:

  Made your boner go away.

  JOEY:

  Yuh.

  JAKE:

  Good.

  JAKE gets JOEY out of the water. JAKE dries JOEY off.

  Okay?

  JOEY:

  Fuh. (Fine.)

  JAKE:

  Hold still.

  JOEY:

  Huhuh ub. (Hurry up.)

  JAKE:

  You alright?

  JOEY:

  Fuh. (Fine.)

  JAKE:

  Let’s dry you off.

  JOEY:

  Nuso har. (Not so hard.)

  JAKE gets a cream he spreads on JOEY’s ass.

  JAKE:

  Hold on.