Chapter Audience well-lit throughout. The performer. VR headset on. Looking out into the real audience in the real theatre. Identifying a virtual audience in a virtual theatre. Usher here. This usher. This seat unsold. This area Booking Band B. Band B is 65 quid. 65 to the side there. Plus booking fee. £68.50 . Senior citizen discount off-peak matinee — which this isn’t, so £68.50 Five pound souvenir programme there. Premium central bank stalls here, 95 quid. 95. 95. 95 . Up through to 55 further up. 55. 55. The director, there. Sound begins. This woman here, Platinum Member. Priority booking, £10 discount. This man here, pre-theatre dinner package, £135.50. Black Truffle Ricotta Gnocchi. Sitting heavy. Two large Barolo. Drowsy.Drowsy. This seat empty. Empty. This chancer here checked on the website just before the play began to see which seats in the stalls were unsold and then snuck down from standing. Fucking chancer. Fair play. Sound deepens. Deloitte UK. Deloitte. This area, Deloitte. Corporate donors. Patrons’ event. Restricted view, 30 quid. 30 - Another usher there. Hourly rate nine seventy- five. Independent boys school group booking rear stalls discount. This woman in the second row, access seat, £24.50. Access assistant seat beside her, here, her companion, free of charge. This seat unsold. This seat broken. These people in the dark. VR headset off. No sound. (These people in the light.)Everyone okay? An open space for any response. You're great, thanks. VR headset on. Sound resumes. Looks up to the ‘dress circle’. 45 quid front dress circle. Back to 22.50. 22.50 rear dress circle. Restricted view. Looks up to the ‘box’. Box here. VIP package. Obstructed view. £167.50. Looks further up to the ‘gallery’ 20 quid front gallery. Partial restricted view rear gallery sixteen fifty. Standing 12 quid. Standing. Standing. Standing. This empty space where this chancer should be standing. Fair play. Looks up and over. Suspended dome. $$ GeilinaioseCeiling rose. Chandelier. Proscenium arch. Out of the darkness. Light. Light. Looking upstage. The play King Lear in progress. Act Three. Sound changes. Wasteland. Hawthorn. Blackthorn. Gorse. Nettles. Bracken. Surface water. Onto the stage, looking down. So much rain. Looking up Like a bruise. Kestrel. Crows. Looking off one side. Towards Dover. Other side.wurer iue. In the distance, Gloucester’s house, the Earl of Gloucester’s house. Sandstone blackened by rain. Trees straining in the wind. Range Rover parked up. Range Rover. Range Rover. Bentley. ures moving. Security. Lights in the windows. Dusk. VR headset off. Sound off. This is a modem dress production There's nothing in here (The headset), by the way. VR headset on. Sound resumes. The stage. This outhouse here, out away from Gloucester’s house. Rakes, edging shears, rusted tools, cobwebs, creosote, paraffin, wood rot, coal sacks, seedling trays, planters, this stool. And there the king. Here. The king Lear. The king of this outhouse. Dethroned. Deposed. Psychotic. Ranting. All props removed — no shoes, coat, crown. Plucked white legs exposed, blue with arith Tanerbicintnrtinctlniedahocitemnstlamsisi bitin icanctiabd alata Secold. This tarpaulin king — all collar bone and broken veins. This broken king. Sound darkens. And me. This is me. The fool, me, look, my character, me in this play, here. The zombie state of me, here, in this moment. This outhouse. Freezing. Starving. Soaked to the skin. Lost. Out of all comfort here. Without jokes. No jokes left. Looking for jokes. Nothing funny anymore. No jokes. No jokes. VR headset off. Sound off. I should wam you that there are actually no jokes in this. No actual jokes. A laugh would be a release of tension or a sort of pack response. Or just politeness, which goes a long way. Other warnings: it's just me for the whole of it. | don’t leave. No one else comes on. It's just this. It's just us. Seventy minutes. You might have questions about ideas of character. About who's speaking this now, for example. | am. The hardest part, | think, is a routine in which | question whether we should even be here; whether this is even something anymore.yeny I'd say that's fis hardest part. VR headset on. Sound returns. Rain. Me. So cold and drenched, me, look, with the night coming in and — losing it, shaking, shivering — no jokes. Me. Me. And the Earl of Gloucester, there. Here, Gloucester, wet- through, haunted, obsessing about his sons and the injustice and look ~ Gloucester, trying his best, Gloucester, with no real understanding of how we come to be here in his outhouse, in the dusk, tail end of a storm, a civil war starting, the king Lear broken, Act Three, the world undone. A distant sound. And that’s the moment when I leave. There. The moment when the jokes fail us. When I fail. | fail. This precise moment here, look, see with your ears. Fuck this, I'm thinking. I can’t do this anymore. Above my pay Euckit ti Lu E yFuck this, I'm thinking. I can’t do this anymore. Above my pay grade. Fuck it, I’m leaving. This is when | leave. Enough. Now. Watch me go. Like a coward. I walk out of the world. Not even the interval. I can’t do this anymore. eave the action. I've gone. Sound starts to fade. Looks to the stage. And on it goes without me. Sound off. VR headset off. This is a live, interactive and immersive experience about my character the Fool abandoning the world of the play King Lear by William Shakespeare. Abandoning the world, leaving it all, getting out, unable to endure it any longer, having had enough of it, in no fit state to continue with it, despairing of it all, disappearing, slipping out. Leaving it and coming here. To this place. To you To the microphone Microphone:quicropnone: They say you play the (Name of the theatre.) twice in your career. Once on the way up. Once on the way down It's good to be back. We were poor growing up. So poor we had to melt the goldfish down. So poor the dog only got one rabie. I was so ugly my mum breast-fed me through a straw. So ugly everyone died. So bullied | still wash my face in the toilet. And so on. True story. Once when | was a kid, my dad had some of his mates round. Here kid, he said to me, tell the lads one of your funny stories, No, dad. Do it. Dad, please. Do it. So | told them a joke about a penguin. You know, a penguin joke. ‘See’, he said to his mates, 'I told you he was a show off.’ Here's one. Here's one. | arrive at the Pearly Gates and St Peter says to me, oh, no, mate, dead, mate, fuck, no mate, too soon, fuck, mate, fuck, what happened, mate, fuck, and | say, listen, St Peter, shut up a minute. | was clearing out the attic and I found an old lamp. Oh yes, says Peter. So | gave the lamp a polish, St Peter, and a genie appeared i I Seeand gave me three wishes. ‘I'm the genie of the —’ | know about this, genie, I've read about it. First up, | wish there was no inequality in the world, no economic inequality, no division, no segregation based on inherited privilege or upbringing, or physical characteristics or ability or anything, really. Just no inequality. There was a flash and, look (The space.). Unreserved seating. House lights on. No restricted views. Concessionary rates. Unwaged pricing. Lift access. All-gender toilets. Captioning. Relaxed performer, look. Occasional signed performances. Audio description — if there's the funding — and if there's not then certainly long and involved conversations within the organisation about audio description And the genie goes, that's your first wish. Think hard about your second wish. Don't waste it. So | thought and | thought and | said, | know, Genie, second wish, | wish we all sort of respected each other’s choices a bit more, more tolerant, you know, not so quick to pass judgement, more broad-minded, less dogmatic, prepared to give the benefit of the doubt to other people's — you know — their personal views, values, tastes, in a sort of non-religious ecumenical way, that kind of thing, generous, considerate, empathetic, peace- loving, just altogether more gorgeous, really, you know, Guardian reading. concerned about the environment, that kind of thing. Wow, says St Peter, what a great wish. Thanks, St Peter, | say, at the Pearly Gates. So there’s a second flash and look (The audience.). Here we are.Then the genie says now it's your third wish, your last wish. Use it wisely. Your final wish. Don't fuck it up. So | thought and | thought and | thought. And | looked at all our lovely shiny faces basking in the reflection of our tolerance and goodness — our liberal sense of shared community and hope. And | thought and | thought. And then it came to me. | know, Genie. | know what my third wish is. My final wish. Here it is. It's a good one, an obvious one, really. Here it is, my final wish, my last wish: fucking kill me. Go again. VR headset on. Looking out. Identifying another audience in this audience. Struggling with it, this one. Really struggling. Sound begins. Not their cup of tea. Just their cup of tea. Having a great time. A great time. A great time. Here under duress. Confusion. Undecided. pa DeccidedindecidedDecidedly undecided. Irritable bowel. Heartburn still, this pre-theatre dinner man, acid reflux. Full bladder. Hot flush. Glued to it, this one, the chancer. Read King Lear at college. Tinnitus. Restless leg. Cystitis. Into it. Really into it. Back ache. Head of Human Capital, Deloitte UK, here, looking at their watch. The director there, looking at their watch. Induction loop malfunction. Critic. Blogger. This woman in the access seat on the second row rocking slightly back and forth, rocking, gripped by the play in progress, gently tapping the side of her face with her soft, nail-bitten fingers. Miles away. Fast asleep. Miles away. Fast asleep. Fast asleep.To the stage Gloucester’s house. This is in the Earl of Gloucester’s house. Sound changes. Gloucester’s late wife in a gilt frame. Their son, Edgar. Edgar’s graduation. Edgar hunting. Edgar on the royal yacht. Edgar. Edgar. Edgar. Gloucester’s investiture. Gloucester with the king. Gloucester with the late queen. Stags head. Antlers. Marble fireplace. Onyx coffee table. Onyx eggs in an onyx fucking bowl, Jesus. VR headset off. No sound. | think this was the hardest part of the job for me, you know, this shite. VR headset on. Sound resumes darker. What do we call these people? Regents, are they? Regents?VK ieauset url. Sound resumes darker. What do we call these people? Regents, are they? Regents? The Duke and the Duchess of Cornwall. (Rise up, Penzance.) Cold blooded reptiles. A nurse’s lifetime salary on her finger. Cornwall’s gurning mouth. Cocaine a cruel dentist. Hey. Hey! It’s me. Look. Heft. You missed me? Hey. Fuckheads! Hey! And here now, the Earl of Gloucester himself. Hard to summon sympathy for his allegiance to the king, Gloucester, the old prick, taste of his own med — No. Sound changes. Now this is — This is real. This is — Oh, fuck. Gloves off. When it’s threatened is one thing but when it’s here. It’s here. Still Act Three. All civility gone with a cable tie. iSomething rather thrilling about the rich going at each other. Gloucester’s wrists tied to the arms of a chair. Cornwall twitching, wired. Old school interrogation. Where’s the king? He was in his outhouse! Gloves off. Glasses ripped off — Oh. Oh fuck, don’t. Don’t. Fucking hell, no. Don’t. Stop. No. (Grapples with thin air.) Someone. Someone. Staff. (To the audience.) Collective breath held. The dozing surface from their slumber. (To the audience.) And there, an echoing verbal tic from the rocking woman in the access seat in the second row, a crying out, a mirroring of excitement moves her from tapping fingers to insistent yelps, yaps, a call and response to this unspeakable act. (To the stage.) And there, as if she’s been heard, resistance, rebellion. This equerry stands up to the violence. Thank you. Thank you. Defiance. Cornwall struck, yes, and - Oh, god. Oh, fuck, fuck. Stop this. This is - Behind you — she’s — No! Resistance down. Someone help. Someone. Gloucester’s other eye — Please no. Hooked out like a snail. This is an old man. This is an old man. Help him. Equerries backed up against the fireplace, like — You fucking - This will be you soon. Do something. Do something. Your colleague bleeding out.four Comeugee wiecuny wun. Convulsing on the Axminster. Has bled out. This rebel dead. Cornwall wounded. And Gloucester’s sightless sockets Sound changes. And the yelping woman in the access seat in the second row, still gripped, transported, rocking, rocking, distraught by the blinding, there was no warning, held by her companion, offering her cries as aid to the action. There was no warning for this. And those around her looking stern. And those around her tutting and ssshing. A voice in this usher’s earpiece. This usher out of his seat now and heading over. No. No, she’s This usher, 9.75 an hour. She’s good — This usher insisting. No, she’s fine, she’s — This usher helping her to her feet. This woman resisting. She’s into it. Taking her arm. Her companion protesting. She’s doing her own thin:She’s doing her own thing. Voice in this usher’s earpiece. She’s just — No. No. Stop the show. Who wrote this? Looks back to the stage. And on it goes. Big music. VR headset off. Music ends. To the microphone. Microphone: Here's a good one. This is a good one. You'll like this one. Where are we, do we think? Seriously. What is this place, now? Not then but now. This is a funeral, isn’t it. Be honest. We're at a funeral. We're here to say goodbye, aren't we. Bye, everyone. It was nice, wasn't it. Thanks for all the plays. No, not a funeral, this is a morgue. We're in a morgue, everyone,NNO, Nota Tunerai, tnis Is a Morgue. we're in a morgue, everyone, look, didn’t you read the sign? Alll this is dead. These are dead now, didn’t you hear? They died. The world’s moved on. This is like some obscure corner of arcane anthropology now. We're like some ‘Amazon tribe being buzzed by a microlight. Looking up at our future So this is how they used to live, is it. How fascinating. People gathered like this, did they, and they what? They sat together like this, did they? And this kind of thing happened, did it? Amazing! What was the point of it, | wonder? It seems that they spoke directly to each other. What? Oh, yes, directly. What, with no -? No — just together. Wow. | know, right. Very little record of it now, of course What did they say? Who knows, really — never recorded. What? No. Not the actual thing — not the thing itself. Some ancient texts left which they'll spend years trying to decipher. No one speaks this language anymore, do they. It's not a living language anymore. We're like soldiers in the jungle and the war's over and we weren't told — and we lost. Didn't we? We lost and we didn’t get the message. We're fucking a corpse tonight, ladies and gentlemen, sorry to be so crude. A desiccated corpse. All the constituent parts are here, | understand — you, audience, stage, me. A corpse still technically has a heart — but it's not beating any more, is it. There’s no pulse here, is there, be honest. Is there? Not anymore. And yet we all dragged ourselves out this evening, didn’t we. Myself included. Like hopeful desperadoes, desperate optimists. Come on, itll be good, we said, we'll like it. Like before, remember. Give it one more chance. We liked it before. It's the same. Is it, though, really? Really? The soul of this place transmigrated years ago into that flat nn ascreen in the middle of our fucking living rooms, didn't it— where we should all be now, shouldn't we. This will all be livestreamed anyway, won't it. Oh, they'll stream it, won't they, film it. Yes, bound to. We'll catch it then, then. Stay in, watch it on the telly, on the computers. Get up really close. Pause it, make a cup of tea, check the news, so much better. For fucks sake. Dead, everyone. While we weren't looking, you see, while our backs were turned, everything here died. Was dying anyway. ‘Oh no, no, no, itll come back stronger after the —’ No it won't. It hasn't. It didn’t. Get out now, everyone. Leave now. This is like keeping our dead mum in the freezer to claim her pension. It's borrowed time, everyone, it's running on fumes. We're done, here. Admit defeat. Necrophilia is an ugly thing, everyone. Necro theatre. Necro foyer. Necro drinks in the bar. Necro we should be ashamed of ourselves. And then, when this is over, we'll applaud our own demise, won't we? We'll clap the clap of the dead for the dead. Clap clap. Oh, that dead thing was so dead, wasn't it? Oh, | loved its deadness — let’s go have a bite to eat. Clap, clap, clap. Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap. It’s not my job to reassure you. Is that why you came here? Oh, no. No hugs. Sometimes we just don’t know where we are anymore, though, do we. We think we understand the values that've been in operation —uperau oh, yes, | understand these values, | understand what we're about, | understand — but then everything drops away, falls away. And we go, oh, no, no, no, don't do that. Don't do that. Don't say those words, no, that's not what | thought we — And we're in a landscape we don't recognise and we never saw coming. And we thought we knew. We thought we knew. We thought that things were heading in an okay direction, generally. Not perfect, but, you know, progress. We could pick holes, but no need to pull the alarm. We thought. We thought. But then something happened. Must have, mustn't it? Someone did something. Must have, mustn't they? Said something. Aquestion was asked. What do we trace that back to, then, | wonder? And, boom, everything — over it went. Tipped over, into — the ego in the world. The bloated self-entitlement. The loutism. The greed. The chasm. The war. Like it came into focus. We knew it existed but we never - We thought, as a society, we progressed And just when we thought we were getting our shit together we find ourselves in some metaphorical outhouse in the tail end of a howling gale with an enfeebled fragment of a disenfranchised ruling class and a psychotic ex-monarch, and a country divided and a civil war kicking off, and everything we did made no difference, and everything we said made no difference, and everything we wrote made no difference, fuck this, you think, above my pay grade, I'ma fool for fucks sake, I’m here for the jokes, can’t do this anymore, and you leave the play, this is you leaving, you walk out of the drama, simple as that, you just fuck off, no interpretation needed, there one minute, not the next, while the world around you is imploding and society is collapsing and the weather's turned and you're drenchedsuuiely IS CuapSiny ally Wie Weale! § WITTY atu you Te UlerereU and you can't feel your toes and so you leave, you leave, you leave the storm, like a coward, like a coward, walk out before the interval, before someone gets hurt, and you join the dark side with your lovely, warm, considerate, generous, undogmatic, broad-minded, Guardian-reading, environmentally conscious dead friends here, sitting here and — I'm sorry. I left. If you were expecting me to have stayed in that hellhole, I'm a fool, not a fucking idiot Go again. VR headset on. To the audience. Vacant. Vacated. Vacant. Smoking. Outside reading messages. Outside looking at the moon. Outside checking on the babysitter. VR headset off. This is the interval, everyone. VR headset on again. iSound begins. To the bar. To the bar. The bar. The bar. The bar. This one, the chancer, to the bar quick sharp drinking other people's interval pre-orders. Chardonnay. Shiraz. Honey and Stem Ginger. Belgium Choc Truffle. Still in his seat, the pre-theatre dinner man. Chest pain. Deloitte UK in the members’ room. Prosecco. Gand T. Prosecco. The bar. The director pissing. She's queueing to piss. Queueing. Queueing. Checking phone. Checking phone. Checking phone. Flushing. Vodka tonic. Fresh air. Washing hands. Washing hands. Looking at train times. Looking at train times. Train times. Fresh air. Honey and Stem Ginger. Luxury VaniLuxury Vanilla. Salted Caramel. Salted Caramel. Salted Caramel. Looking up Rigging. Rain curtain. Lights. Rigging. Cables. Cables. Looking off one side. Towards the wings, here. Objects. Implements. Contraptions. Guns, blood, crown, map, decanter, letters, cable ties. Other side. In the distance, corridors. Leading to corridors. Moving through corridors. Into corridors. Names on doors here. Through doors here. Lights round mirrors and cards and dying flowers and lucky charms and make-up and wig blocks and costume rails and fake blood and hairspray and throat sweets and actors undressed and dressing and wounds undressed and dressingundressed and dressing and wounds undressed and dressing and voices echoing in the corridors and phones consulted and wage slips scrutinised. And me. This is me, here, this actor here, look, my character. See with your ears. The zombie state of me, here, in this moment, this dressing room. My face reflecting what? This make-up off. This will to live. Fuck this, I'm thinking. | can’t do this anymore. Above my pay grade. The shit this is. This civil war starting, this enfeebled state. The greed, the chasm. No jokes. Shivering. Shaking. Bag packed. Enough, now, do I? Am 1? Out of here, am I, me, this actor here. My character. I leave, do I? Keep moving, idiot. Worst enemy. Myself intact. This part over. This rent unpaid. This art undone. In person. This joyless state. | leave, do I? Reskill, do I? Reboot? Enough, was it? The second half begins, the play King Lear in progress, Act 4 — alone now in this choice. What do | do? Me. This is me. Sound ends. VR headset off. To the microphone. Microphone: So, it's one of those talent shows on the TV — you know the kind ofSU) 119 UNE UF IUD areHHE SHUWS UI UIE Fy — YOU RHIOW We AMY UF thing — with a panel of celebrity judges and a mass-hysterical crowd whooping and stamping without shame or embarrassment. And onto the stage walks this family, a family, a regular family, you know the kind | mean, an extended family — father, the dad there, grown-up kids, husbands, in-laws, nephews, godparents, cousins who are also nephews who are also second cousins, you name it. A white family all except the youngest daughter who's not entirely white. Pretty fucking white, though. And one of the judges goes, ‘Okay, then. Let's see what you've got for us.’ And the audience settles down and there’s a hush and the act begins And the father of the family, the father, the father takes a moment, surveys the scene and then stands directly over that big X on the centre of the stage, right over the big X, drops his trousers, his pants, squats and just releases a foul barrage of you-know that splatters as it hits the floor and starts to slide down the gentle rake of the stage towards the judges. And as it’s flowing, as it flows, the daughter, the eldest daughter — the eldest daughter takes off all her you-knows, so she’s completely you-know, she pulls out a straw from inside her you-know-where — a pretty big straw, like a milkshake straw, a plastic straw not a paper straw (she doesn't care) —and she bends her father over and starts sucking the remainder of the you-know out of her father’s you-know. While she does this, the second daughter, the second daughter straps on a massive you- know and starts you-knowing her older sister who continues to suck the you-know from out of her dad’s you-know-whatAnd the crowd can't believe their eyes. While this is happening, at the same time as this is happening, simultaneously, the same time, the father, the father grabs his youngest daughter by the you-know-what, pushes her face down into the river of his own stinking you-know and starts you-knowing her from behind while the husband of the second daughter, the second daughter's husband, you-knows his wife's sister with a you- know and his wife, while you-knowing the you-know from out of her father's you-know, starts to you-know the you-know of the illegitimate son of her father's second cousin up to the wrist. They don't care. They don't care! And the crowd go crazy. All the while the husband of the first daughter, the first daughter’s husband, is just you-knowing himself furiously over the you-knows like he’s some kind of monkey. Meanwhile the illegitimate son of the father’s second cousin starts you-knowing the you-know-where of his own older brother with a splintered chair leg until the stage is awash with you-know and pools of you-know-what and everyone's you-know-where is ragged and raw and weeping. And the audience's mouths are agape. The judges’ fingers hovering over the buzzers. And millions watching this around the country. And then the husband of the second daughter takes the father of the illegitimate son — No, no! What am | thinking? If | don't get theIegiumate Son — No, no! wnat am 1 tninking¢ IT | gon t get ne sequence right, it’s all completely meaningless. Then the father of the family — yes, the father — the father takes a sledge hammer and starts smashing up the stage, just smashing it up, and smashing it up, and smashing it up, and smashing it up, and smashing it up - he doesn't care — and he's joined by his second cousin's illegitimate son and the husband and the two older daughters who light a bonfire of high-denomination banknotes and begin to you-know the youngest daughter, their sister, from both you-knows like some kind of spit-you-know. Then they all take the bits of shattered stage and you-know and you-know and just begin to you-know them with their you-knows, sticking them inside each other’s you-know-wheres and their you-know-whats and you-knowing and you-knowing. They don't care! ‘And you know why. And while the stage is being you-knowed and starting to burn, the husband of the second daughter, the second daughter's husband, takes the father of the illegitimate son — who's also maybe the second cousin to the other father and maybe godfather to the daughters or something — they don’t care — and the husband starts to you-know this man in the you-knows and then gouges them out and proceeds to you-know the sockets with his you-know-what while the illegitimate son just you-knows the two daughters upside down and backwards and inside out. They just don’t care! And then audience members, you know, just people in the crowd get invited up onto the burning stage and the whole family, the whole family — apart from the youngest daughter who's you-knowing out of all herapart from the youngest daughter who's you-knowing out of all her you-knows — the whole family start you-knowing volunteers from the audience left, right and centre. An orgy of you-knows you-knowing you-know-wheres and you-know-whats with you-knows rammed up their you-knows sparking and flashing until audience members are completely you-knowed, lying lifeless, and the obliterated stage is awash with you-know and you-know and you-know and you-know and you-know and the crowd lose it completely. And then all the family make their way to the front of the stage and wave and applaud each other and hold hands and take a bow and take a bow individually and then collectively with the youngest daughter skipping down and bowing and the crowd go berserk — standing ovations — and everyone's in raptures. And the audience settle down to hear the judges’ opinion. And the chair of the judges, the chair of the judges goes, ‘Well, that was something. An interesting act. Very interesting. The audience loved you. What do you call yourselves?’ And the father steps forward and says: Royalty. Music. Back again. VR headset on. The sound of a distant road, lapwings. Chalk. Flint. This flat field. Lapwings. South East England, where?where? Atrain on its way past, look. Ashford. Deal. Dover. Where? This scene glimpsed from a window of this passing train would be what? Nothing. No consequence. Two figures way over in this neglected field with no precise arrangement that | can see. No public composition. No audience in mind. In deep exchange, both, it would appear from the window of that train. Older man there nearly on his toes. The younger — arm around his shoulder — working something into the older man’s ear, working, talking, talking. Chewing words into his ear. ble from this distance, even. it? Like his life hung on it. Two men in the corner of a field with words. The younger man holds the older man’s hand. The younger man steps aside. His body reads grief, is it? A different sound. And there’s a phone ringing. Like a knife. Ringing. Out into the other audience inside this audience. This woman fumbles in her bag. This man roused from sleep beside her. These people looking over. The glow from this woman’s ringing phone. These people check their own on silent. Check. Check. Stifled laughter from the private school boys. This director enraged. So much darkness in the gods who hear this phone as from a welhear this phone as from a well. This chancer sits forward, wills their concentration to push through the interruption and hold on. Hold on. Holding on. Still into it. Heartburn raging now from the pre-show menu at the Holding on. Lower back pain. Int brasserie. Like a clamp across his chest. Left at the interval. Left. Left. Had to leave for her last train. Still miles away. Debating whether to leave. This phone an act of rupture for some, release for others. And then silence. Sound changes. Moving further into the stage. This is the blinded Earl of Gloucester, everyone. Gloucester. ‘Scabs for his eyes, look. Cakes of scab the colour of rhubarb. And this his legitimate son, Edgar. Nothing like his graduation photo now. Edgar — it's me. The fool. Look. Me. I walked away. | left. | couldn’t do it anymore. I was a coward, Edgar. I'm sorry. | left you to it. 'm thinking of never coming back. What's happened to the world, Edgar? Edgar. Edgar. VR headset off. No sound. x 5 Fouis the Falling ActiThis is Act Four. In a five act structure, Act Four is the Falling Action. Itexplores the aftermath of the climax and what other conflicts arise as a result. It's a foreshadowing of the final catastrophe. It prepares the audience for it. That's you.Be prepared. It's going to end soon. A catastrophe! But before then, some people will die. Here and here. This is a content warning of death which is hard to avoid. | hope you have nice plans for after this. love you. VR headset on again. Sound resumes. Edgar’s words to his dad — audible now on the air. Summoning the edge of what? A cliff, is it? A cliff edge. Here, in the corner of this mud-flat field Edgar summons cliff and height and edge and vertigo and birds below and rocks beneath and sea beyond. A drop from no drop. Precipitous in this wholly flat expanse. Gloucester hears the words and his ears see the rocks, the sea, the birds, the drop, but do not see that this is his son. His son. Doesn’t know it. Does not. He’s had enough of it all. And over the edge of the non-cliff the blinded Gloucester drops. To end his life, he thinks. He can’t do this anymore. This small shudder onto this flat earth, face first. Everything virtual. This father who thought his brains would spill onto the non-existent rocks below. ue ne .This son who let his father think that. What's tested here on this corner of this field? Language, is it? Words. Words. Imagination, yes. Imagination, imagine. To leave your life without leaving it. To learn pain’s lesson without feeling it. To reach a conclusion without it ending. Not to leave. Not to leave. To stay. It works. To go again. No record. Just us. In person. To keep going. To keep going. To endure. Sound alters. Steps towards the audience Identifying another audience in this audience. This pre-theatre dinner man here. This pre-theatre dinner man. This man here. This man.This man. This man groans. Slumps to one side Vomits onto the armrest. His fists clench. This woman doesn’t want this. This woman recoils. She pushes the man away. This pre-theatre dinner man reaches out. He slumps forward. This woman gets up and makes her way towards the aisle. Disturbance ripples around this area. This man voices displeasure. This woman is scared of rudeness. This man is scared of disturbance. Looks to the stage. The blinded Earl of Gloucester finds enlightenment. His son Edgar finds enlightenment. The king Lear finds enlightenment. Back to the audience. Distinctions starting to blur. This man was enjoying the play and now it’s spoiled. This woman looks away.This woman looks away. This couple look away. The chancer here notices the disturbance. The pre-theatre dinner man’s mind collapses. He says his last words. These people show displeasure. This man resents the money spent. This rustle among the private school-boys. Disturbance. Disturbance. The music ends. This pre-theatre dinner man’s bladder empties. His sight packs in. These people shift in their seats. This young man here tries to disappear. A voice in this usher’s ear piece. The chancer here stands up and starts to move over in the darkness. This usher’s torch beam sweeps this row. The VR headset comes off. I'm here with you now. I'm here. Distinctions of audience and stage disappear.No VR headset. No sound. No microphone. This middle aged man’s mouth is suddenly dry. ‘The light from this usher’s torch catches the pre-theatre dinner man’s face The woman turns round and glares. The corporate donors look at their watches. Time breaks apart The management take a decision. The actors carry on. Civil war is raging. The king is crowned with flowers. The Duke of Cornwall has died of the wounds inflicted by the equerry. The king is reunited with his youngest daughter, Cordelia The corn in the field is growing The sun is warm The older sisters destroy each other. This critic hisses ssh. This chancer weaves their way towards the pre-theatre dinner man. These people swivel sideways to let the chancer through The chancer apologises. This neat couple quietly leave. The ghosts in the gods are oblivious The ghosts in the box left at the interval.The ghosts in the box left at the interval. This young woman nearby is lost. This pre-theatre dinner man’s skin is damp. The chancer reaches him and assesses the situation. The pre-theatre dinner man’s body is heavy. The usher arrives. The king and Cordelia are imprisoned Edgar fights his brother. The Ear! of Gloucester has died despite his enlightenment. Notwithstanding his enlightenment. Because of his enlightenment. The civil war is close. Bodies are on the street. The usher and the chancer hold the pre-theatre dinner man under his arms and lift. This woman stands up. The man is heavy. This woman heads over. The people in this row are embarrassed Some stand, some swivel sideways. The usher and the chancer carry this pre-theatre dinner man past these people. This woman is brushed against by urine soaked trousers and gasps. These people don’t know where to look.The director gets up and leaves. This woman makes her way over. This woman takes some of the weight. This Platinum Member makes their way over. This Platinum Member takes some of the weight. Trumpets sound. Actors offstage prepare to enter. The pre-theatre dinner man is gone. His head knocks against this handrail. The audience refocus. This is the great play. This woman and this Platinum Member and the usher and the chancer are joined by another usher. They take the weight. Instructions have been given to kill Cordelia This woman gasps at the revelation The pre-theatre dinner man is carried into the foyer. Activity unmutes. This pre-theatre dinner man is laid in the recovery position. This usher checks for a pulse. This ambulance has arrived. These staff are ashen faced. Cordelia has been hanged. King Lear carries Cordelia’s body.Ailly Leal Callies UUrueiia s Duuy. Edgar moves upstage. These paramedics are in the foyer. This cloakroom attendant is crying. The pre-theatre dinner man’s shirt is loosened. King Lear's collar is loosened. The pre-theatre dinner man’s shirt is opened. Attempts are made to restart his heart. Time breaks apart. King Lear searches for signs of life in Cordelia. The paramedics search for signs of life. They search for life. Cordelia is dead. Cordelia is dead. Edgar offers support The front of house staff offer support. The paramedics stop all attempts. The king Lear’s heart breaks. The actor playing king Lear plays dead. King Lear is dead. The pre-theatre dinner man is dead. King Lear is dead. The audience are held by the story. Edgar speaks. The time of death is recorded. The lights go out The audience clap. The chancer hears the applause in the theatreIne cancer nears ine applause in ne theatre The chancer has missed the ending. The chancer has a new ending. The actor playing King Lear gets to his feet in the darkness. The paramedics cover the pre-theatre dinner man’s face. The lights come on. The actors gather. The audience are released. The audience applaud. The actors receive the applause. The applause. The actors acknowledge the applause. Applause. The actors leave the stage. The audience get to their feet. The pre-theatre dinner man’s body is carried out to the ambulance. The audience stream into the foyers Coats are collected. Bags are collected. It's late. Cars are waiting. Coaches are waiting. The blue lights of the ambulance still flash. Some run to catch the last trains. Some walk into the city. Some fend off the destitute. nn itCoaches are waiting The blue lights of the ambulance still flash. Some run to catch the last trains. Some walk into the city. Some fend off the destitute. The donors get to meet the actors. It's late, you say. Some cross the bridge over the river. Some walk past the homeless. It's late, we say. Back to the microphone Microphone. There was this penguin. This penguin goes to the job centre. Listen, they say, I need help. I'm pretty fucked-up at the moment. I've got to re-engage with the world. And the guy behind the counter there goes, ‘Okay, wait there, Vl be right back’. The guy goes into the back office and makes a few phone calls. The penguin’s waiting there. The man goes back to the penguin. ‘Great news,’ he says. ‘I've got you a job, starting Monday, Sea Life Centre.’ ‘Sea Life Centre?’ says the penguin, ‘but I'ma writer.” End.