Let your imagination rip and it might go for a thrilling ride around these objects.
The play, surely, was about a disinherited younger son who, given a sum meant to pay his way through university, instead, splashed it on a priceless necklace used to purchase the loyalty of a magnificent half-Spanish, half Swedish courtesan. The poor boy was then, sadly, usurped by a French captain in the Foreign Legion, blessed with fierce moustache and a large shako – leading to the lad’s despair followed by bankruptcy, years of homeless wandering and an alcoholic death.
Seems a shame to say what these remnants are truly about.
It’s a play about death, in fact. A two-hander about an old guy waiting by the telephone for news of his heart transplant. He’s visited – haunted – by a series of people with whom he chats about it all. Should he drink himself to death…? Could be fun for a while, unpleasant at the end.
I played the old guy, and fabulous Jo Girdlestone played the other nine parts, occasionally becoming a man, changing costume in seconds behind a screen. It was she who wore the shoe and the necklace and I toyed with the bottle.
