ADD Wet Dream
This evening I was reminded of a play I saw at King’s College when Molly was in town. It was a semi-improvisational performance called “ADD Wet Dreams”, and was performed and directed by students of King’s College. The play was to be the second of three shorts which were each to last twenty minutes. I had a friend in the cast named Mike Keen, without his suggestion we probably wouldn’t have known to attend. I still can’t decide if I’m thankful for this.
The short which came before it was rather tame save for one cigarette smoked on stage. I thought it was a faux-pas, little did I know what was to come when the “ADD Wet Dreams” crew went to strike-set the stage. To this point everything was executed as it should in theater, with professional image.
Enter Mike, topless, to remove chairs, desks and other props left behind from the first short.
“YOU GUYS WANNA MOVE YOUR FUCKING SHIT OFF THE STAGE?”. His aggressive tone and anxious voice boomed off the walls of the boxy theatre room.
“The Pit” is where most King’s plays are held. It’s this large black room, complemented by a tunneled entrance way in the lower subterranean bowls of the College. The tunnel was where the audience would line-up to wait beside filthy grey dumpster wagons and rain leak buckets, under exposed ceiling pipes and concrete pillars before being admitted down into the Pit. Molly and I took seat in the second row, literally feet from where the actors were to take stance. We would have sat in the first row except we heard rumors that gastric rotted milk was to later be sprayed upon those who sit too near.
I cannot begin to reassemble this play in my mind, let alone recount it accurately. Only rich details of specific portions remain in my memory.
Nearly every actor and actress drank something alcoholic at some point throughout the play. In addition, they must have gone through an entire pack of cigarettes between the 12 of them. Everything was consumed entirely in character. It was obvious that the show was just as much fun for them to perform as it was for us to watch.
Needless to say, the play went over its twenty minute time frame by forty minutes. I didn’t even really notice.
The “director” of the play, reclined in a camping chair, sat to the far side of the stage throughout the entire play, keeping more or less out of the way. Neglecting always to speak, he simply puffed at a cigar, all the while nursing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He comfortably overlooked his directed action through dark sunglasses, occasionally taking to a threatening stance to signify intermittent displeasure, however scarce. His presence was more or less forgotten by the audience as the hour progressed. Although we were subtly reminded of it with each set change as his glowing cigar cherry beaconed through the darkness.
The cast, half of which were stark naked by the end, powerfully displayed their theme of character through ridiculous, and mostly offensive behaviour. They took turns spitting out vulgar lines between drinking and smoking, and took their props and stage set entirely for granted.
The main character, “The Gimp”, wore nothing but panty hose over his head and a thong fabricated from black electrical tape. The frontal cup of his makeshift thong, which proudly left his scrotum and pubic collection exposed when viewed from the side, had two pockets built into it: one for a pack of cigarettes, and another for a lighter.
The play carried on with somewhat structured madness until the fringe festival coordinator hit on the lights and announced that the un-orthodox presentation had to come to an end. Chaos climaxed by this time, nudity was in abundance, beer was spilt everywhere, cigarette smoke engulfed the audience, props lay overturned, and chunks of ripped up vodka soaked paper was strewn all over the ground. Mike had fake blood (perhaps even real blood) stained to his upper lip, just under his nostrils. The actors and actresses all picked up their various clothing articles and props and vacated the stage. As the lights dimmed, all that could be seen was the director’s bright orange cigar cherry.
The director stood up from his well seated perch and proceeded to stumble clumsily backstage. He removed a great deal of clothing and returned to the darkened center stage. He raised his hands to the ceiling in glory and pride, and slowly began tripping backwards towards the wooden set constructed of black ply-wood panels. He quickly picked up speed as he began to run, uncontrollably, backwards into a large wooden box prop at thigh level. The director, in all his glory, collided with the box. His legs stopped their motion as his upper body continued to travel backwards at full speed. His body flipped backwards over the box, Mr. Daniels in hand, leading his head to slam noisily through whatever was positioned on top of the box and to come to a halt with a loud thud as it collided with the wooden paneled back drop. He then rolled sideways onto the floor and crawler back stage to throw up at the feet of the Dean of King’s College who was dressed like an English steward, preparing for his invited cameo appearance in the play to follow called “The wondrous and exciting cerebral mis-adventures of Eggermont P. Witherspoon..”
“I’m not so sure about this place anymore”, said Molly.