WW1 - 1917 When David Allister, a facially disfigured war hero, writes a biting condemnation of the war, he is sent to Craiglockhart mental hospital until he agrees to publish a retraction. For the best experience, please listen with headphones.
WW1 - 1917
When David Allister, a facially disfigured war hero, writes a biting condemnation of the war, he is placed in the care of Dr. Ethan Drury at Craiglockhart mental hospital until he agrees to publish a retraction. While there, he meets Arthur Bridgland, a shell-shocked soldier obsessed with returning to battle after having been labeled a coward. David delights in tormenting Arthur until he meets and falls in love with Arthur’s suffragette sister, Lucy.
Written and Directed by Frank Hudec.
Produced by James Faller and Frank Hudec.
Edited by James Faller.
Music by Andrei Gravelle.
Casting by Gregory Wolfe.
The Cast:
Nicholas Few as DAVID ALLISTER.
Michael Frederic as ARTHUR BRIDGLAND.
Jenna Krasowski as LUCY BRIDGLAND.
Shauna Bloom as MARTHA ALLISTER.
Rik Walter as DR. ETHAN DRURY.
Additional Voices by Gregory Wolfe and James Wolfe.
Voice-Over by Jason B. Lucas.
Audio Consulting by Ricardo Berrios.
“Dream Sequence Music from
Midnight Mushroom Music" by Nanotopia on SoundCloud.
CRAIGLOCKHART was cast, rehearsed, and recorded entirely over the internet during New York City's COVID-19 quarantine in the Spring of 2020.
©2020
VOICE-OVER: Craiglockhart: An Audio Drama in Three Acts. Act 1: The Arrival.
VOICE: Officers of His Majesty's Army, please welcome Dr. Ethan Drury.
(POLITE APPLAUSE)
DRURY: As you may or not be aware, and I ask that those who are familiar please bear with me, our purpose here at Craiglockhart is to make the shell-shocked soldier fit for reassignment to the trenches. These neurasthenic patients are a new phenomenon in the annals of war: their universal symptom being a form of personal withdrawal, some patients being reduced to a childlike helplessness. Speech often becomes slow and halting, sometimes even stammers. Individual symptoms vary depending on that soldier's personal war trauma. Officers, please refer to the slide behind me. This patient, Lt. Howard Ashby, appears to be a healthy 23-year-old. Physically, that is. Mentally, he seems incapable of communication and is dumb of language and reason. However, the very mention of the word "BOMB" sends him scurrying for cover, often beneath his hospital bed or, in one instance, under the skirts of nurses.
(LAUGHTER FROM THE CROWD)
Levity aside, we are proceeding with a therapeutic course of re-teaching him basic skills: weaving, sewing, then farming, later, marching, carrying a gun, and eventually shooting it again. All in hopes of transitioning this soldier back to the battlefield, where he belongs. We consider this temporary feminine recuperation – weaving, sewing - an essential element in their return to masculine combat status. With the officers, we are combining these therapies with "THE TALKING CURE". Simply put, "The Talking Cure" is the analysis of their dream-lives, using the techniques of Dr. Sigmund Freud, while energetically repudiating his more idiosyncratic theses.
(MORE LAUGHTER FROM THE CROWD)
It has been my observation most are not, as Dr. Freud postulates, repressing sexual urges, but rather are reacting to their natural fears pertaining to their personal war experiences.
(BOOS)
I realize this is a radical proposal, but I hold to this principle: shell shock is a very real illness.
(MORE BOOS)
Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Gentlemen! I have hundreds of neurasthenic patients under my care and my statistics do not lie! I have a 75% recovery rate. Seventy-Five percent! Those are fully recovered and sound men back on the battlefield. Sound men with purpose and no-reluctance to carry out the orders they must fulfill.
(APPLAUSE)
Thank you. Thank you. Wish me luck and pray God speed us to a quick and decisive victory! Down with the Kaiser and God Save The King!
(ROARING APPLAUSE)
CROWD: Here! Here!
(MUSIC)
DRURY: So how's your weaving coming along? (NO RESPONSE) 2nd Lieutenant Bridgland? Your weaving?
ARTHUR: Very well, I suppose. I've become fixated on a particular basket and don't seem to know when to stop. I'm afraid it will grow as large as fifteen feet. (NERVOUS LAUGHTER)
DRURY: And are you finding it therapeutic? Your facial tick hasn't seemed to slow or dissipate. Do you feel it's doing you any good?
ARTHUR: Yes. I think so. Maybe if I were given more time.
DRURY: (SCRIBBLING SOUNDS) And what of your dreams? Do you still see the dead walking through Piccadilly?
ARTHUR: No. I think I'm much better. I no longer dream of the war. I dream of more simple things… motor car accidents and such.
DRURY: Your ward attendant reported you awoke screaming last night of corpses walking amongst the sleeping. Is that correct?
ARTHUR: No. (STAMMERING) N-o-o-o-o.
DRURY: But why would your ward attendant fabricate such a statement?
ARTHUR: I wouldn't know. Is it truuuue you are usssssing electricity on your patients?
DRURY: Only on the most extreme cases. The ones who do not respond to The Talking Cure. Please, 2nd Lieutenant, you needn't worry, I won't be using electricity on you. The Talking Cure will have the desired effect, I can promise you that. We must come to a solution to your internal conflicts rather than simply put an end to their physical manifestations. The use of electricity might make you functional, but it won't cure you. And curing you is what we want. Is it not?
ARTHUR: Yes, Doctor. I do not believe I could handle the shock treatments.
MILITARY POLICE: (MUFFLED IN HALL) Get him! Get Him! He’s escaping!
(SOUNDS OF A SCUFFLE. DOOR BURSTS OPEN. FALLING AND FIGHTING.)
MILITARY POLICE: Grab him! Get his arms!
ARTHUR: Ahhhhhhhh! Get away! Get away!
(LAUGHTER)
DRURY: What are you? Incompetent?
POLICE: Sorry, Dr. Drury. Sorry. This won’t happen again.
(DOOR CLOSING. CACKLES OF LAUGHTER GETTING FURTHER AWAY))
DRURY: It's fine, Arthur. He's gone. You can come out now.
ARTHUR: Who was that man?
DRURY: That man is Second Lieutenant David Allister. He is a new patient of mine.
ARTHUR: My God! His face!
DRURY: We all make sacrifices. For his he received the Military Cross for Gallantry.
ARTHUR: He must be a brave man.
DRURY: Some people might say so. Some people. Would you?
ARTHUR: Of course, but w-w-w-why is he being escorted here by the military police?
DRURY: Obviously,… he didn't want to come.
(MUSIC)
(KNOCK. THEN DOOR OPENING.)
DRURY: 2nd Lieutenant Allister. Dr. Ethan Drury. I’m head physician here at Craiglockhart. Pleasure’s mine.
DAVID: Yes, we met yesterday. Briefly. When I arrived with my escort.
DRURY: Yes, a rather dramatic entrance you made. So, how was your first night?
DAVID: Can't complain. Comfortable bed. A great improvement over the trenches. But tell me something, good doctor, but why is it I have my own room? I couldn't help but notice my compatriots are confined three to a room. Curious, don't you think? Am I in line for a promotion? You can tell me. I deserve it after all I've been through.
DRURY: No, I'm afraid I do not see a promotion in your future. You've been sent here for your convalescence. You are in deep need of psychotherapy.
DAVID: For my convalescence? My convalescence? We both know why I am here and I think it foolish for us… even worse… boring for us… to pretend otherwise. It was my letter that sent me here.
DRURY: Your letter?
DAVID: Oh, please. Yes, my letter. I believe they published it in The Times. Bit hard to miss. Or avoid.
DRURY: Yes, I’ve heard of your letter.
DAVID: Only heard? You haven't read it? Pity, it has such excellent prose style. So what is it then, doctor? If I protest the War then I am insane? So, they send me to a sanitarium for my "convalescence"? For my own good and that of England? I must be converted from my pacifist error to a conventional attitude?
DRURY: If you want to leave then all you need do is recant your statement and I can send you back to London.
DAVID: No, I will not be doing that. I'm afraid my convalescence will be for the rest of my life. Besides, what would you think if I said I prefer it here? I would rather be here in Dottyville where I am celebrity than back in London, where I would simply be the freak who gave his all for the cause?
DRURY: You needn't be the freak, as you call it. You could still make a productive life. You could be a writer, with your education… a scholar. Politics… obviously. Even a family man.
DAVID: Pffft. A family man? What woman would have me? And what productive life would you have me lead? You’ve seen my uncovered face. My future is a cloistered existence.
DRURY: May I see them now?
DAVID: My scars? Of course, but you know it costs a sixpence.
DRURY: You’re not in a sideshow here.
DAVID: Oh, really? Come closer for a better look and… Ta-Da! My scars. Beautiful, aren’t they? A little shrapnel goes a very long way.
DRURY: You can put your kerchief back on now, 2nd Lieutenant. You know you’ll have to remain covered in the presence of the other officers?
DAVID: But in the presence of enlisted men? Not necessary?
DRURY: Please put your kerchief back.
DAVID: There. Better? So, who’s the screamer?
DRURY: The screamer?
DAVID: Yes, the screamer. The one who yells all night long. What is his problem?
DRURY: There are many screamers, as you call them, here at Craiglockhart…
DAVID: I prefer Dottyville.
DRURY: These men have served. They've all seen horrors.
DAVID: I don't doubt that. I've been in the trenches, but you don't hear me screaming. I’ve held what was left of my face in my hands and I didn’t scream then either.
DRURY: You should show more compassion, Allister.
DAVID: Oh,… should I?
DRURY: So I take it that you do not have nightmares about the war?
DAVID: One could almost say the War was a nightmare in and of itself.
DRURY: What is it that you dream about?
DAVID: Dream analysis won’t work on a man who does not dream.
DRURY: You don't dream? But we all must dream.
DAVID: All except me, doctor. All except me.
(MUSIC)
(CHATTER FROM SOLDIERS’ COMMONS AREA)
DRURY: OK, Allister, the commons area is for all and that means good behavior. By all. For all. I will not stand for any of your antics.
DAVID: Oh, my God. What's this mess about? Are they all… weaving?
DRURY: Yes. It's part of the rehabilitation. Weaving. The repetitive actions serve to calm the soldiers. You’ll come to love it. It's quite therapeutic.
DAVID: What? Weaving is going to make me rethink the war? You're quite right. Just being close to my fellow basket weavers I can feel the therapy dissipating my wrong-headed views. Why if Fritz were standing where you are, doctor, I could cut him in half and go right back to my weaving without the faintest care. I see it now. I've been mistaken with these fantasies about this unnecessary carnage. Let's pile the corpses up, boys.
DRURY: (CLAPS) Very good, 2nd Lieutenant. I wouldn't want to be disappointed in your initial behavior. It's more of a challenge this way. Now, if you would please indulge me.
(SOUND OF A CHAIR BEING PULLED OUT.)
DAVID: So what's after this, Doctor? Sewing? Farming? Then carrying a gun, relearning to shoot it? That's the order, isn't it? Feminine to masculine recuperation? That’s how it goes? Correct? Sounds like nonsense to me. But I am no doctor.
DRURY: So, you’ve read my book?
DAVID: Oh, don't look so shocked. It's a terribly tedious trip up from London and I'm afraid my military police companions weren't very good conversationalists. So, yes, I read your book.
DRURY: Then you know what happens if this therapy fails, don't you?
DAVID: I believe so, yes. You strap me in and throw the switch. Zap-zap!
DRURY: And we can't take that chance, can we? So, I'll be seeing you at sixteen-hundred hours. Intensive talk therapy.
DAVID: With bated breath…
DRURY: And Allister?
DAVID: Yes?
DRURY: Kerchief stays on. Sixteen-Hundred Hours!
(DRURY’S FOOTSTEPS FADE AWAY.)
ARTHUR: It r-r—r-rarely works, you know?
DAVID: What rarely works?
ARTHUR: The electric sh-sh-shocks.
DAVID: Do I make you nervous?
ARTHUR: No. I've seen worse.
DAVID: Really? Do I dare remove my kerchief?
ARTHUR: You forget? I’ve already seen your face.
DAVID: When?
ARTHUR: It fell off during your scuffle with the military police.
DAVID: Oh! That was you who jumped behind the couch. Crying. Whimpering. (PAUSE) Sorry. I’m an ass sometimes. So, is that why you have your tick? Electric shocks?
ARTHUR: N-n-n-no, Dr. Drury says it's because I bayoneted Fritz in the mouth.
DAVID: Is that all?
ARTHUR: Then a shell hit and blew Lieutenant Kroger to pieces and buried me for four days. Fritz laid in front of me with my bayonet in his mouth, bleeding to death. Four days until they found me.
DAVID: You're the screamer, aren't you? Look, I'm sorry for you, old boy. Looks like you're coming along though. And your basket looks outstanding. And at least you're not twitching like some of the others. You only have the stammer, you'll be alright.
ARTHUR: Used to twitch too.
DAVID: So, tell me about these electric shocks. They gave them to you?
ARTHUR: No. I've just seen what they do to people. They stop twitching. Sometimes. Sometimes, they get worse.
DAVID: Oh.
ARTHUR: Dr. Drury said that you received the Military Cross for Gallantry. Why don't you wear it? I would, if they had given one to me.
DAVID: I threw it off the transport into the Channel.
ARTHUR: Why would ever you do that?
DAVID: Because I didn't do anything any other man wouldn't have done. Except lose my face.
ARTHUR: I'm sorry.
DAVID: Don't be sorry for me. And don't be sorry for yourself. Or anyone for that matter. You've done just as much, I'm sure. Wounds to the body. Wounds to the soul.
ARTHUR: Once, I almost didn't get my gas mask on in time. Then I turned and the man beside me, he didn't. It looked like he was drowning in a green sea. Scratching at his throat. It was God-awful.
DAVID: Oh, I can beat that. I spent two months with the arm of my best friend Lawrence protruding from the wall of trench. I used to hang my canteen there. You get used to anything after a while.
ARTHUR: You used to hang your canteen on your dead friend's arm?
DAVID: If it were the other way around, he would have done the same. Old Larry had a great sense of humor.
ARTHUR: That's sick.
DAVID: Maybe. So's being buried alive in a trench at the ripe old age of 22.
ARTHUR: Tomorrow is visitor's day. Anyone coming to see you?
DAVID: Good God, I hope not.
ARTHUR: My sister's coming.
DAVID: Really? What does she look like? Is she pretty?
ARTHUR: What do you mean by that?
DAVID: Is she married?
ARTHUR: No.
DAVID: Engaged?
ARTHUR: Was. He died.
DAVID: So, what you're trying to say is that she's eligible? And I've so been in the market for a bride. Now that my brother's gone, it's up to me to keep the family name going. So, what do you think, a girl like you sister and a man such as myself?
(SILENCE)
DAVID: But Bridgland, what about my manly needs? I’m only 25. Is it a lifetime of blind prostitutes for me?
ARTHUR: I, I, I… don’t… I don’t know…
DAVID: I’m afraid everyone must make sacrifices in our hour of national need. Your sister is not exempt.
ARTHUR: B-b-b-b-ut… she’sssss…
DAVID: Oh, blast! Look at the hour! It’s time for my very first talking cure session with Dr. Drury. This should most amusing.
(MUSIC)
ARTHUR: Oh, Lucy, I'm so glad you came. It helps me forget this place. Tell me what's happening in London.
LUCY: A zeppelin tried to bomb Woolwich again on Monday. It missed and blew up a church next door instead.
ARTHUR: I'm surprised there's anything left around the factory what with the Kaiser trying to blow up it up everyday. He'd be happy if there were no more bombs to kill his men with.
LUCY: You should thank your sister for her contribution to the war. (coughs, laughing) Without her, they wouldn't be trying to fix you up and send you back. (coughs) I should hope he hits the place next time.
ARTHUR: Don't say that, Luce. You know that if they fix me up, that nothing will happen to me. Someone has to take care of you.
LUCY: You know on the train up here, I saw this woman counting the tips of her fingers, over and over again. 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5. People were pointing at her, giggling. Then her husband stood up and asked that people not make fun of his wife. She had lost all five of her sons. Can you even imagine? All five? I don't want to be that woman, Arthur. You stay here. Make them think you are insane. The war will be over soon.
ARTHUR: It's OK, Lucy. It's OK. Nothing's going to happen to me. You've got to know that. God couldn't take all of us. (GASPS) What happened to your hands? They're all yellow?
LUCY: Oh, it's nothing. It happens to all of us at the factory. It's some dye we use.
ARTHUR: You know I think it's insanity for you to work in a munitions plant. Women's Suffrage or not. You come from a good family. You shouldn't be risking your life. I've heard about the explosions there.
LUCY: This war is a terrible price to pay for women to get the chance to prove their worth to this country, but they'll have to give us the vote after what we've done for England.
ARTHUR: You're beginning to sound like one of those pamphlets you hand out on street corners. Be careful, you'll scare all the men away.
LUCY: Listen to you. “Scare the men away.” Scare the men away? What men? They’re either dead or… or…
ARTHUR: Damaged…
LUCY:You know that’s not what I meant.
(SILENCE)
LUCY: I’ve read David Allister is here. Have you met him?
ARTHUR: Yes. Do you know him?
LUCY: Of course not. Only of him.
ARTHUR: "Of him?"
LUCY: I can't believe you haven't heard of him. (coughs) Mr. Lees-Smith, the M.P., wrote about him in the Times. They must keep everything from you up here. Second Lieutenant Allister wrote a protest letter against the war. It's all the rage with the pacifists in Parliament. A decorated and injured soldier condemns the war? What a victory. Why do you think that he is here with you? It's all political. He protests the war, so they say he's insane. The War Office is so devious.
ARTHUR: What a bastard! I can't believe they'd put him here amongst real soldiers. That phony bastard!
LUCY: Phony? If David Allister is not a real soldier, then I don’t know what is. My God, he's decorated. Medal of Gallantry. After all you've been through, I don't see how you can be angry with him. He speaks for you!
ARTHUR: Speaks for me? He speaks for me?
LUCY: Yes, for you and all these men.
ARTHUR: Forget it! It's nothing you'd understand, being a woman.
LUCY: "Being a woman?" Arthur? Really? I thought I'd taught you better.
ARTHUR: Oh, it makes me sick I even spoke with him.
VOICE: Two minutes!
LUCY: He didn't want me to tell you this, but I think you should know. Father was forced to sell the summerhouse. The war has all but ruined us.
ARTHUR: We’ll get another.
LUCY: Do you remember that time you and Philip buried me in the sand? And I called out for Mother to rescue me? You came back after Philip ran away and saved me. You told me he made you do it.
ARTHUR: Yes. They were great times, weren't they?
LUCY: Yes, they were.
VOICE: Visitation is over!
LUCY: I guess that's my cue. Arthur? I'm afraid I am going to miss my visit next month. I have a rally to attend and it falls on visitor's day. Forgive me?
ARTHUR: Can't you miss it? What if they send me back before the next time you can come?
LUCY: That's what I am afraid of. (WHISPERS) Just tell them you are too sick. Scream a little for them. Twitch a little more? Promise you'll wait for me?
ARTHUR: Oh, Lucy… you know that’s not possible.
VOICE: Ma’am, it’s time to go.
LUCY: I’m going! (TO ARTHUR) Wait here until the war is over? Promise? It won't last much longer. Can't possibly last much longer. Can’t.
ARTHUR: They’ve been saying that for years.
LUCY: At least wait until the next time I come? Promise me? Wait until then? Promise.
VOICE: Please make room for the next group of visitors.
ARTHUR: (WHISPERS) I promise.
LUCY: Thank you, Arthur, thank you.
(LUCY’S FOOTSTEPS FADE AWAY)
DAVID: That your sister?
ARTHUR: Have you been watching us?
DAVID: The whole time. Must say, she’s a fine specimen.
ARTHUR: You sir, are a phony and a coward. My sister told me all about you. H-h-h-how could you? How could you protest the war? Betray all the men who fought and died with you? Who are out there fighting and dying right now? How could you?
DAVID: Betray you? Oh, please, you should be thanking me instead.
ARTHUR: Thanking you?
DAVID: Who do you think I wrote the damned thing for? I want to see an end to this insanity. I know that letter will do nothing to stop the war. They'll keep piling up the bodies until one side or the other cracks. But I felt I had to do something. Someone did.
ARTHUR: What? Be a puppet of the pacifists?
DAVID: Pffft. That was incidental. I never wanted to become their cause. I have no respect for Mr. Lees-Smith and his lot. They were never soldiers. But you have to understand, I wrote it because of the soldiers I'd seen suffering needlessly on the front and the suffering of their loved ones here at home. Suffering. Like your sister’s suffering. It’s all over her face. That pain.
ARTHUR: You leave my sister out of this. She has lost one brother and her fiancé and has seen her one surviving brother committed to an asylum because they served their country bravely. She doesn't need you, sir, hiding out here like a coward writing anti-war rubbish in her good name.
VOICE: Visitor for 2nd Lieutenant David Allister!
DAVID: Oh, Christ.
MARTHA: David! Stop right there. I know that's you! Turn! You should have known I'd come as soon as your doctor would allow.
DAVID: I was hoping that it would be longer, Mother.
MARTHA: Sit. Now listen to me. You have to stop this nonsense, David. I want you to write a retraction. Write a retraction and they'll let you go. Be sensible.
DAVID: Just where would I go, Mother? A home for the blind maybe?
MARTHA: And why would you want to go to a home for the blind, dear?
DAVID: Why would you think, Mother? I know I'd be more comfortable there.
MARTHA: Why aren't you wearing your medal?
DAVID: I threw it away. Just tin and ribbon.
MARTHA: You should be proud of what you've done. You are a hero and nothing less.
DAVID: You do not know me anymore.
MARTHA: I know you've seen horrible things and that you are upset, but you need to forget. David, write a retraction and they'll say you've been cured. You can return with me to London and live the life you are supposed to lead. (HUSHED) I've been reading about these French sculptors who can fashion a face from an old photograph. We will hire one to come over and remake your face. I'm told that they are quite lifelike. You wouldn't feel the need to hide anymore. You could go out, see and be seen by others. Think about it, David. You could have your old life back. You could be out fox-hunting with your old pals.
DAVID: All my old pals are dead, Mother. Besides I refuse to participate in blood sport. It's against my principles. Fritz, yes. Foxes, no.
MARTHA: David, be serious. I've worried about you since the day you left for the front. I prayed God would bring you back to me. If you want to be angry, be angry with me, for it was my prayers that sent you back this way. But please, darling, don't torture yourself. Take advantage of your position and money to live out your life to its fullest. Your brother wants you to know he agrees with me.
DAVID: Wilfred's dead, Mother. He was killed at Gallipoli over a year ago.
MARTHA: I am quite aware of that, David. But I'll have you know that I speak regularly with him through séance.
DAVID: Now, I want you to explain to me why you are the one who's visiting me and not the other way around.
MARTHA: You know you're not nearly as witty as you think. Your joke was obvious and clumsy.
DAVID: Mother, Wilfred is gone from this world.
MARTHA: Really? (RUSTLING IN PURSE) Then explain this.
DAVID: It's a photo of you.
MARTHA: That's right. And what's this?
DAVID: What's what?
MARTHA: That spot above me. What's that?
DAVID: I don’t know. Some kind of mar on the photo negative? Why? What do you think it is?
MARTHA: It's your brother, Wilfred. It's his spirit. He is always close to me. I know it. Who loved him more in this world?
DAVID: You haven't shared this with anyone else, have you? Mother?
MARTHA: What do you think? They'll pack me away? Well, I'm sure you'd be happy to hear that none other than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself speaks regularly with his deceased son.
DAVID: And he has announced this publicly? He must not care what people think.
MARTHA: David, I demand you take me seriously.
DAVID: You're right, it is wrong of me to make light of your grief.
MARTHA: This is not some manifestation of my grief. And I resent you thinking so.
DAVID: Mother, go home.
MARTHA: I won't. Not without my son. I've already spoken with this Doctor Drury and I told him that I would get a retraction out of you. He says that that's all the War Office would need to set you free.
DAVID: And what about these men here or the ones out there fighting Fritz day after day? What about them? Who's going to set them free? Who, Mother, who? No one, that's who. I will not go back on my word.
MARTHA: Don't do this to yourself. You are not the martyr type, David.
DAVID: Forget it, Mother. This is all just a dream of yours. It won't happen. I will never go back on my word. Go home. Go back to London. To Kent. Go anywhere, but do not stay here if you are going to ask me that again.
MARTHA: David, please.
DAVID: If you won’t leave then I will.
(SHUFFLING FROM DAVID AND FOOTSTEPS MARCHING AWAY)
MARTHA: David! Come back here!
(RUNNING, PANTING. CATCHING UP WITH SOMEONE)
DAVID: Say you there! Stutterer! Screamer! Your sister works at Woolwich?
ARTHUR: Yes. She's a suffragette. She is working there to help organize.
DAVID: She's a canary, Arthur. She won't make it to the end of the war.
ARTHUR: What do you mean, "She's a canary?”
DAVID: Look at her. She works at Woolwich? She has the cough? Her hands are yellow? Her ginger hair. My God, don't you read? She has TNT poisoning. She won't live if she doesn't quit. She may already be barren. Who's to know? You have a better chance of surviving back in France than she has in London.
ARTHUR: How do you know this? How can you be so sure?
DAVID: The government censors keep this kind of thing hushed-up.
ARTHUR: Stop it! I will not listen to more of your lies and distortions!
DAVID: Do you have another explanation for her appearance?
ARTHUR: She says it's some dye they work with.
DAVID: She's lying. She knows what it is. She's just protecting you. You need to take leave from this dungeon and go to her, convince her to stop working there. Go to Drury. See what you can do.
ARTHUR: What do you care? How does this fit in with your sick views?
DAVID: I just don't want to see your sister, another innocent, lost to the war.
ARTHUR: Save the speeches, coward. (screams, confused) I can't believe I am even considering this!
DAVID: Quiet! You’ll attract the orderlies. (WHIPSERS) Now you listen to me. You had better go to her or it will cost your sister her life. Go to Drury. Get leave or she will surely die. Don't let my face confuse you. I am no monster.
(TRANSITIONAL MUSIC)
VOICE-OVER: CRAIGLOCKHART was…
Written and Directed by Frank Hudec
Produced by James Faller and Frank Hudec
Edited by James Faller
Music by Andrei Gravelle
Casting by Gregory Wolfe
The Cast:
Nicholas Few as DAVID ALLISTER
Michael Frederic as ARTHUR BRIDGLAND
Jenna Krasowski as LUCY BRIDGLAND
Shauna Bloom as MARTHA ALLISTER
Rik Walter as DR. ETHAN DRURY
Additional Voices by Gregory Wolfe and James Wolfe
Voice-over by Jason B. Lucas
CRAIGLOCKHART was cast, rehearsed, and recorded entirely over the internet during New York City's COVID-19 quarantine in the Spring of 2020.