Lia Karen Gramsdorff
M.I.L.F. (FROM 11PM TO 2AM)
Nomination Italian Playwrights Project 3th edition (2020/22)
excerpt translated by Thomas Simpson
Characters
MOTHER (between 45-50, would be appealing if she cared)
SON (student, around 20)
I (student, 22-26)
DICTIONARY (adult woman: professional, detached)
The stage space is indicated by lamps and points of light of two modern apartments superimposed one on the other. One (the apartment of MOTHER and SON) is larger, the other (I’s apartment) is smaller. Except for the fourth chapter, the setting is always at night.
The blue light illuminating the characters is the signal that they are online; no computers or laptops appear on stage; by convention, the blue light, a sound that indicates entrance in a chat, and the punctuation that becomes text to be performed, substitute the action of writing.
(V.O.) indicates voiceover with the taped voices of the characters.
PART I.
MOTHER
Dictionary:
“Mother. Madre, ancient matre, feminine noun, singular, From Latin mater-tris. Woman who has conceived and given birth, genetrix. In common use mamma is preferred. Common locutions: mother of the family, woman who personally looks after the children and the conduct of the household; the mother is always the mother, to indicate her generous love made of sacrifice and abnegation. In ancient usage, uterus, for example in the expression mother’s sickness, hysteria. “Mother of God”, the Madonna, invoked also as the mother of sinners. Figuratively, to highlight a relation of affection, or a relation of origin or descendance. Mother nature, Mother tongue, the motherland, the motherload, mother yeast, mothership.”
(Sound of keys opening a door, then a heavy door slamming)
SON (offstage): Mamma…! Maammaa! Mother...!
(The lamp indicating the living room goes on, SON is standing with a heavy soccer bag, which he drops. He goes toward the part of the stage indicating the kitchen, -- turns on the lamp indicating the kitchen, opens the refrigerator, the refrigerator light goes on, he studies the contents. SON closes the refrigerator door, the kitchen light stays on while the SON goes to the bathroom, where he turns on the light over the mirror that represents the bathroom. His back to the audience, the SON pees, then flushes, washes his hands with a towel, while in V.O. we hear his recorded voice. He goes back to the soccer bag, opens it, emptioes its contents onto the floor. He looks at the things scattered on the floor. Then he puts everything back in the bag.)
V.O. SON: Everything is inside me. Everything. There are so many things inside me that I can explode from one moment to the next. If I don’t let something out, my brain will catch fire. And it will take a bomb squad to scrape all the brain matter off the walls because every piece of my brain will be explosive. Every fragment of thought is nitroglycerin. My mother says I should talk more, but when I open my mouth nothing comes out. Not a word, not a breath, maybe because I don’t actually open my mouth. And maybe I’m not even breathing. I stand there, but it’s like I fainted… But still standing. I feel this flame rising from my feet to my eyes, my ears, then up through my hair like an atomic scream trapped inside me.
(in the meantime SON looks himself in the mirror, we see him in reflection as he arranges his hair, making strange faces).
Look at me. What’s your judgment. Aren't I fine? I mean: I have no deformities, shit. I’m practically beautiful. (SON leaves the bathroom, leaving the light on, goes back to the kitchen, opens the fridge, takes out some sandwiches, opens the wrapping, starts eating). This thing of fainting while I explode is a problem. Everything is inside me, even you watching me while I detonate in silence. You don’t have any idea how much pain it takes to be here, to pretend to be here and not in a thousand chunks splattered all over the walls.
SON (chewing): Disgusting, shit, disgusting...
(SON goes to his room, where he switches on the bedside lamp that indicated his room. Blue light illuminates SON seated on the bed with headphones on; he’s online. Sound of access to a chat)
SON: Ciao Soldier 96… Fine, you? Thanks for the incvitation... I hope you’re in good shape because today I’m going to smash you … (laughs) I don’t think so… I’ll destroy you. Ready?… Wait till I find you… I’m gonna smash you, bastard... (As he plays, the voiceover continues)
V.O. SON: Maybe it takes courage to live, to stand up and open your mouth and let out the words you want to say. “Hi, how are you. When I think about you my heart seizes up.”
(Sound of machine guns and explosions)
SON: Fuck, go fuck yourself, no! No! I’ll find you, you huge sunuvabtich, where are you, vile monster, come here, come on come on come on I’ll open you up like an oyster.
V.O. SON: “When I hear your voice I start spinning and I feel so happy I could punch myself in my own face and feel no pain.” Right, I’d like to be able to say things like that, I’d like to be able to say what I think every moment …
SON (continuing): you can’t understand the weapon I’ve found, escape, believe it because you’re dead… Here you are, I found you, eh?... You thought you’d escape, eh? Noooo! Shiiiittt! I shot myself…
(Sound of the front door opening and keys tossed on a table)
SON: Ciao mamma (then, playing the videogame, in a lower voice) Here I am dickhead I’ve come back to life… exactly… I have returned to kill you and all your miserable friends…
MOTHER (enters and drops her purse on the floor next to her SON’s bag): Ciao. Can you make this sports bag disappear?
(sound of videogame explosion)
MADRE (as she goes to the “kitchen” and opens the fridge): Why are all the lights on?
SON: How do I know! (as he continues playing) Where are you? Where are you where are you I’m going to find you, you know? I see youuu...
MADRE (takes a sandwich and unwraps it): Did you eat?
SON: Yes!
MADRE: Hmm this is truly disgusting! Did you eat these sandwiches?
SON (as he plays): No, they’re good, come on...
(Machine gun sound)
MADRE (eating standing up in the kitchen): Sorry, today I really wanted to come back early and cook… then at eight they blocked me right at the studio door. I never get to do what I want, it’s insance… Insane. You can’t save on sandwiches anyway. They’re made of rubber. The mayonnaise is orange! We’re going to get salmonella one of these days…
(MOTHER turns off the light in the kitchen and goes into the SON’s room, stands behind him as she eats and the SON continues playing)
MADRE: Are you playing?
SON: No. (Pause) I’m doing my homework.
MADRE: Aha. (Picks out a piece of the sandwich stuck between her teeth) Everything okay today?
SON: Yeah yeah.
MADRE: Ah, ok... I’m leaving.
SON: Yeah yeah...
(She goes to her “room”, turns on the light, throws herself onto the bed – a blue light comes up on her and we hear the sound meaning she has accessed chat – Sound of videogame explosions)
SON: I give up, come on… want to play later? Okay, me too… Ciao.
(SON leaves the game and goes over to the “door” of his MOTHER’s room)
SON: Mamma?
(Pause)
MADRE: Eh!?
SON: Can I come in?
MADRE: Not now...
SON: Okay!
(Pause, he stays there at the “threshhold”)
MADRE: Give me two minutes!
SON: OK, but it’s not important, it’s nothing, I mean it.
MADRE: I’m coming (remains still on the bed)
(SON remains immobile, she comes out and runs her hands through his hair, SON slips away)
MADRE: What? Is everything okay... today?
SON: Yeah yeah...
MADRE (looks at him closely): Hmm... exams?
SON: Biochem….
MADRE: Ah, right. And?
SON: And what?
MADRE: What’d you get??
SON: B-
MADRE: Good no? (he shrugs his shoulder, she chortles through her nose, runs her fingers through his hair)
SON (irritated): Mamma...!
MADRE: What matters is passing, no? Youy take it too personally, you’re too sensitive…let me say that… Look, I’m, not expecting miracles, you know?
SON: Exactly. Stop mussing my hair, mother!
MADRE: You have to learn to be less sensitive!
SON: I’m not too sensitive at all!
(A sound signals a message on MOTHER’s chat, she becomes distracted)
MADRE: You know I don’t like it when you call me that.
SON: Like what?
MADRE: Mother. It sounds like you’re mocking me.
SON: But you call me SON sometimes!
MADRE: Yes, but that’s different…
SON: No, it’s not different!
MADRE: No, it is different. It’s different: hear the sound of it? SON. “SON SON loving lily”.
It’s soft, it has perfume. Even though you, perfumed, not so much…(she sniffs him and laughs) But now listen: MAAHTHER. It’s like a stone, something heavy: Mother! Sounds like a curse word… Are you hungry?
