Empty space. White background. The MODEL tries to get used to the clothes they have just dressed him in. The PHOTOGRAPHER observes him from different angles, close up and further away.
I didn’t really think about it before. But lately I’ve not stopped. In this business you’ve got all the time in the world to think. Between each ‘flash’ … it’s like time stops. Like you’re suspended in time. So you start thinking about things, like what am I doing here dressed as a priest or a frogman … what the hell am I doing here?
The PHOTOGRAPHER does not listen. She has found the right spot. She assesses the light and looks over the MODEL as if he were a doll.
The above sample taken from the translation Bad Image by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
They don’t like me.
I’m working my ass off for both of us, Edi. For you and me.
Alright, tell me. What've they got against me?
LOLA does not want to answer. But EDI insists.
They said something about your image on stage.
My image? What’s wrong with my image?
They don’t think people find it easy to identify with you. You’ve a bad vibe. Too much negative energy.
They want me out of here, eh?
I made it very clear to them: “I don’t sing without Edi”.
The band’s moving on, kiddo. New image, new songs. Dead weights out.
I’m working my ass off here for both of us. And where are you in the meantime? In the park?
There’s no need to explain, Lola. We’re friends.
Of course we’re friends.
No explanations needed. It’s better this way. End of. It’s no one’s fault. Don’t blame yourself. We’re friends, but so what? Happens all the time. At first, when things aren’t going so well, who cares if your mate can’t play a note? Until things start going well. Then … yeah it really screws things up if your mate can’t play for toffee. Even if you are good friends.
What the hell are you talking about? You know no one’s got hands like yours.
You’ll get other hands. Those guys, they’ll find them. They’ve probably already found them. Have they told you who? Don’t tell me who.
Last night you played better than ever.
You, in contrast, sang out of your ass.
They liked it.
You were singing for them. But they don’t get it.
They see something in us. You’re not going to screw this up, Edi. These people know what they’re doing. They’ve got a nose for this business and they’ll only back winners. Have you seen the way they treat us? They like us.
They don’t understand anything. Not a word.
They’ve got the best people working for them. Amazing songwriters, genius musicians. But the ideas will still be ours, we’re not losing anything of ourselves. Let me deal with them. I’m cleverer than they are. I’m not going to sell out.
You’ve already sold out.
The above sample taken from the translation Bad Image by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
The MODEL is frozen under the spotlight. The PHOTOGRAPHER makes him hold a huge sack.
What am I supposed to be carrying in here? Aren’t you going to tell me?
She does not listen to him.
Can you hear the wind rustling through the trees? Your footsteps on the grass? Children’s voices?
The PHOTOGRAPHER notices something is missing. She is not sure what. She decides.
Your lips part. You’re singing. Sing something. Whatever comes to mind.
The above sample taken from the translation Bad Image by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
So it’s his song? Is that it? It fell out of his sack. Come on, Edi, it’s your handwriting. Your messy writing. How much have you put into this?
The same as always. The same as every single day. Of course it’s my handwriting, Lola, but the song’s his.
LOLA takes the piece of paper, skeptical. She reads it, lacking any enthusiasm.
He dictated it to you? He didn’t want anything in return?
He didn’t dictate it to me. He was singing it to the little boy on the slide.
These words … (She drops the page as if the words written on it were on fire.) You’re crazy, Edi. You’re pissed off so you come out with this story about the Bogeyman.
I knew it was him … because of that song. I must have heard it a million times, ever since I was little. But every time I looked behind me there was never anyone there singing it. But when I heard it, I knew he was nearby. It’s the song he uses to call them. The ones left alone. Listen:
He goes to read the song out loud. LOLA stops him.
Read it and tell me if you think I wrote it. (Pause. He puts the paper in front of her.) Tell me if I would write a song like that. Think back … when you were a little girl, in the park … didn’t you ever hear that song?
LOLA rips up the paper.
You’ve heard it in your head. That’s all. You can’t sing this.
EDI does not reply. Pause.
What tune did he sing it to?
There is no reply. LOLA picks up the pieces of paper and puts them back together. She still expects EDI to reply but he does not. She reads it again.
You can’t sing this. There’s no tune to fit these lyrics. (She tries out a melody, gives up. She tries another, gives that up as well.) You can’t sing this. (She keeps trying to find a tune. She does not see EDI saying goodbye with a strange wave that also looks like a greeting.) Nobody could sing these words. (Only then does she notice that EDI has left her alone.)
SCENE 12
The Bogeyman calls to EDI with his strange song. Is he the only one who hears it? Flash.
The above sample taken from the translation Bad Image by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Entry written by Gwynneth Dowling. Last updated on 3 May 2011.