First published in 2019 by Oberon Books Ltd
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Copyright Lisa Tierney-Keogh, 2019
Lisa Tierney-Keogh is hereby identified as author of this play in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The author has asserted her moral rights.
All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before commencement of rehearsal to Alex Rusher at Independent Talent, 40 Whitfield St, Bloomsbury, London W1T 2RH. No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained, and no alterations may be made in the title or the text of the play without the authors prior written consent.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or binding or by any means (print, electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
PB ISBN: 9781786828293
E ISBN: 9781786828309
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Contents
An Abbey Theatre production, This Beautiful Village was first performed at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, on 2 September 2019, with the following company:
Maggie Pom Boyd
Liz Ruth Bradley
Dara Michael Ford-FitzGerald
Philip Damian Kearney
Grace Bethan Mary-James
Paul Aidan McArdle
Writer Lisa Tierney-Keogh
Director David Horan
Set Designer Ciaran Bagnall
Costume Designer Katie Davenport
Lighting Designer Sarah Jane Shiels
Composer & Sound Designer Carl Kennedy
Voice Director Andrea Ainsworth
Dramaturg Louise Stephens
Producer Jen Coppinger
Casting Amy Rowan
The original production was developed in collaboration with Emma Jordan.
BEGINNING
Pre-show music plays.
The audience enter and take their seats in the auditorium.
Low and subtle, we hear the sound of a fly.
It builds.
Here, now there, the sound is quiet, but persistent enough to believe there is a fly in the theatre.
As lights go down, Little Boxes by Malvina Reynolds, plays.
SCENE ONE
Lights up on a living-room with modern, tasteful decor. The house is a classic South County Dublin estate build from the 80s: perfectly functional and nothing special. There are oddities of decoration, like strange art and ornaments.
LIZ (Irish, white, late-30s,) stands statue still, listening. Slowly, painfully slowly, she raises a fly-swat. She steps towards a noise in one place, stops. She steps towards a noise in another place, stops.
A speedy, erratic blue-bottle has her demented. LIZ is focused on its demise in a zen-like state. Peppered with her short moves left and right, to and fro, are dramatic slaps of the fly-swat onto a surface, followed by one word from her: bastard!
There is a window STAGE LEFT in the room. LIZ has her back to it.
A face appears in the window. MAGGIE (Irish, white, early-60s) stares in and watches LIZ, amused, enthralled. LIZ turns, sees MAGGIE, and jumps with fright.
LIZ: JESUS CHRIST!
LIZ doubles over to catch her breath from the shock. She exits and returns with MAGGIE, who carries two bottles of wine.
MAGGIE: Did you get him?
LIZ: No. Gone quiet now, hiding somewhere. He got in earlier when I put the washing out. Wily little fuck.
MAGGIE: Give that to me (Beat.), Im good with flies.
MAGGIE takes the fly swat and assumes the ready position with an aggressive vigour.
Silence.
MAGGIE leaps, swats down hard.
MAGGIE: I got him!
LIZ: Where?
MAGGIE: Right there.
LIZ: Thats a piece of dust.
MAGGIE: No! On the bookshelf, right there.
They both step in closer for an examination, like scientists in a lab.
LIZ: I dont see it.
They are silent.
Pause.
The blue-bottle comes at them again.
LIZ: Bastard!
MAGGIE: Have you spray?
LIZ: I dont.
MAGGIE: Or deodorant. Just to slow him down.
LIZ exits and returns with a can of spray deodorant and hands it to MAGGIE, who presses on the nozzle in short bursts, sharply, in different directions.
MAGGIE: Cmere to me you ye little bollix.
LIZ: Hes there!
MAGGIE: Where?
LIZ: There!
MAGGIE: Here?
LIZ: Get him!
MAGGIE smacks the fly-swat on the couch.
LIZ: Watch the couch, I just had it cleaned!
MAGGIE goes still again. LIZ stands close to her, their backs to upstage. They are laser focused on the fly.
MAGGIE: You have to think like a fly.
LIZ: Channel my inner blue-bottle?
Their voices are low now.
MAGGIE: Look at him. Rubbing his front legs together, thinks hes great. (Pause.) Youve met your match, ye little feck. Its curtains for you.
They are stiller than before, silent. MAGGIE slowly raises the swat above her head.
LIZ: Careful now...
MAGGIE: Easy does it..
PHILIP (Irish, white, 50-ish) enters the living-room unseen and unheard, carrying a bottle of wine.
As MAGGIE stealthily moves in for the killer blow, PHILIP sneaks up behind them.
