 For over 10 years, we have brought together every year a group of the most significant playwrights, great voices from their countries, young voices emerging mid-Korea and also very, very established writers. Because what we do need here in America, but elsewhere also, we need to hear what stories are out there, like musicians listen to world music, to watch the aircraft is vitally important to them, the same should be for playwriting. And often we do feel in the American scene that it is actually not really represented, if you think that over 50% of the New York City inhabitants are no longer white. If you look at what's presented on stage or what you see on the television, it's the stories out of there. Penn has been a great champion of voices from around the world. Penn is the writer of the organization, poets, editors and novelists, it was at the very beginning and it was always a political organization. And Norman Mailer, many, many others, were heads of the Penn International, Penn International Writers Organization. They have a Freedom for Right program. They really are the ones that keep out of prison. They also give out significant literary awards and this is most probably the most significant literary festival in the United States here, perhaps also in the Americas. Over 80 writers are right now at this moment in New York for this festival. We are part of this. It's a great, great, great honor for the CEDO Center that we are considered as partners and it fights right on our mission to bridge academia and professional theater, international and American theater. If you see the lineup, it is truly unique and I would say what we also in the Americas would be hard to find another festival with such a concentration of talent of really great writers and storytellers are to be seen in three days. We have nine readings. Nine readings. I hope you will all be able to come back. We will have three readings today. They will all happen in this space. There will be breaks in between in case you stay longer. The important thing is we always have the playwrights with us if we can. Judith Morris, Marvin Carlson, a grant which we got for the CEDO Center and Jusen and Jack Wooden. We were able to really bring them here which we couldn't do for all the years. So first of all, we would like to welcome Patricia Collelius from Australia. Festival, as you know, it's not just a subway right away. It's a long long trip. So she came here to be with you all in this room and also of course to support the bigger idea that is important to listen to voices from around the world. Paul Oster, Salman Rushdie, Michael Robles, I was created the festival to the Bush government where they felt it was a tunnel vision. Not enough voices were being heard. 95 to 96% of all books published in North America are in the English language. The four, five percent are in the rest of it. 50% are German or French because they are supported by the government so we really do not hear enough and they felt it is vitally important. It has become now a very important contribution. Again, thank you all for coming. Thanks for pen. It's a great start of the day. We were featured in the times today. Also, our festival was mentioned to many, many others. So, we also would like to say thank you to Paul for directing. Thank you so much. We have Christian, who is the producer who worked on this Michael and Brad. Thank you. So, we are, who is the assistant curator, Antje Ugel, who helped to put this together with me and then she was a very, very strong force in creating this festival. And Yu Chen and everybody who works with us there is also Bella from Brazil. Also, our staff comes from Taiwan and so we try to actually also really live what we think of as important. So, I also would like to read from our friends who asked us to do this at this moment. Now, we would like to acknowledge the Napi people. Upon whose land we are gathered today and we can pay respect to the Napi people and ancestors in the past, present and future. So, thank you all for coming. If you have a cell phone, please do take it out. I will do the same. And make sure that I'll give you all take yours, I'll double check. It's show Italian. It never rings in our room, so I thank you all. And Katie. Shit, by Patricia Cornelius. Prologue, lights up. You fuck looking you, what the fuck you done? You fucking nothing. Never gonna fucking do something and you fucked up waste of space. What fucking contribution you made? Fucking nothing, nothing at all. You fucked up nothing, fucking nothing. You are a big fucking nothing. He goes, the biggest fucking nothing I know. The biggest fucking nothing I think. Who the fuck is this fucked up fuck? Fucking telling me I'm fucked up. Fucking nothing, you fucking fuck. You're the fucking nothing. Fucking do nothing, fuck. What contribution you made? And you're telling me I'm fucking nothing makes you fucking way more, fucking way more, fucking way more, fucking nothing. What, what fucking over the top? How many fucks are you stuck in that sentence? So? Too many fucks. You some fucking nuts with that fucking fucking stuff. Way over. Too bad I like it. I like it, just don't lay it on so fucking thick. Thick carpet of fucks. Way too thick. I don't give a shit. I don't give a shit either, but you're not. What? You're not. What? Fuck you what? Using it well. Mm. Mm. Mm. Using it well? That's it, you're not. Oh fuck me, I know how to use it well. Go to hell. You're not making the best of it. I know how to make the best of it. You wear it out. I'll wear it any fucking way I wanna wear it. You do, you wear it thin. Oh here we go, this time the fucking carpet's thin. She can't stop. I can fucking stop. She's coming. No I can fucking stop. It's probably the first word she ever said. Fuck you, fuck off. Cute, oh it sort of. I like little kids who swear. She's grown up with it. I guess. She doesn't know any better. Yeah. For her it's just like saying please fuck you it is. Cunt comes later. Not that much later. When you're a bit older, cunt comes. What, like three? There, the best. There we are. Just like them. I like them so much. They're like bullets. I'm a shotgun. I'm a machine gun. AK. What's the sharpest blade? A razor blade. I'm a razor. A switch. They're the strongest. I'm far. Fuck and cunt. Can't get no better. But no good if they're overdone. Ah Ray, what do you want? Just hold it down with you. What do you think I am? Fucking none? Don't overdo it. I'm addicted. So am I. I couldn't give them up if I tried. No way. And who wants to try? They're strong. Power. Fucking powerful. Tough words. Fucking tough. Frightening. Result for most. You say fuck or cunt, and you watch them run. I've seen it with my own two eyes. On the train or the tram or the bus. I seen someone talking the talk. Fuck this. Fuck that. Fuck him. Fuck, fuck that cunt. Fuck you, you fucking cunt. You fucking cunt. You got it. You with me. And they got their heads buried. They got sweat pouring, dripping off their foreheads. And they're squirming. And they're shitting themselves. And they're running for the doors. And they're ringing the bells. And they're yelling, oh, next stop. Next stop, please. I know. I know. I've seen that. I've done that. I've never run like that. Yeah, who hasn't? It's fucking funny. You watch them cunts go running. Life in them words. Oh, electrifier. It's sort of surprising. The words have been around for years. They hurt them. The words hurt them. Burn them. They sting them. Make them bleed. I've had them women go, watch your language, please. Plenty of them fucking bitches. I said, what are you going to do? Ring the police? I hate them bitches. Fucking made them two. Looking down their noses. They're word bitches. Word. Just fucking words. What's wrong with the cunt? I have no fucking idea. It's not ladylike. Ladylike. It's not. Of course it's fucking not. They don't like girls talking it. Who tell it? Like it. Fucking it. They like us. Quiet. Like mice. They like us soft. Like kittens. Ladylike. Ladylike. They like us to listen. To their every word. Not talk. Say nothing. Just listen and nod our heads. Or joke. They think we're foul mouthed sluts. We are. I'm not a slut, you slut. Don't call me a slut. Shut up, you both sluts. They think we're dumb. I'm not dumb. They think you are. They think we can't string a fucking sentence together without swearing. I can't. You can't. I'm not sure she can. Can you? Of course I can. Try it. Say something. All right. Without one fuck or cunt. Or any of the fucking swearing. All right. Come on. OK, OK, come on. Say something. Hello, my name is Bobby, and I couldn't give a fuck. Oh. I'm like a fucking lady. All right, all right, all right. Shut up. Here I go, here I go, here I go. They think I'm dumb, a slut, a fucking dog. I got a problem with how we talk. It's different shit. Yeah, that's right. I've seen you looking at him, and I said I didn't fucking look at him. Why would I be fucking looking at him? I got no reason to fucking look at him. You were looking at him. I wasn't looking at him. I was looking like I was looking at you or anybody else who spoke. I wasn't looking at him. I wasn't fucking looking, looking. I was just looking. Like, he said something. Like, when you're at the shop and someone says, can I help you? And you fucking love because they're fucking talking to you. And you say, yes, yes, yes. Give me, give me some smokes. That's how I was fucking looking at him. That cunt thinks I was looking at him any other fucking way. She'll fucking get fucked. Sandra is fucked. Totally. What's fucking looking at him? What are we going to tell them? The sound of footsteps, high-heeled words. The three women appear in silhouettes. They are completely still, listening, intently. A room. Anyone could save us? Like, God, you mean? No. Like, someone puts their hand in and pulls you out just before you drown. Like, someone says, you're right, you're right, I got you. Like, someone shoots a crocodile just before it gets you. Like, a doctor cuts out the rock before it infects you. Like, when you jump, someone's going to catch you. Like, someone puts their mouth on yours and blows air into you. Like, someone says, keep away from her or I'll kill you. Like, when a boulder is pounding down, and Superman comes and scoops you up into his arms. Like, someone grabs you. All right, all right. Sam, nothing's going to save us. Too late to save us. Way too fucking late. We're past saving. Way past saving. Maybe someone could have saved us when we were little. Doubt it. When we were three. From the moment I came out, nothing could save me. Well, from the moment my mom got knocked up, nothing could save me. Nothing at all? A bedroom with a lock on the door? Cut down the shouting. In one of those houses I was in, a girl read books. Did that save her? He was sort of, for a while, saw her off her fucking face when she was about 12. Drug's going to save you. Drug's going to save you. When they're in good supply. I used to think someone was going to save me. Me too. Pick me up and carry me off somewhere. Me too. And tell me good things. Like, you're a good girl. Well done. You did real good. You sat up straight. You didn't pick your face. You ate good, girl. You ate. You laughed in the right place. You're pretty when you smile. Well, you enjoyed yourself, didn't you? You thought about someone else for a change. You didn't spit in anyone's face. Like someone who gives a shit, who says, I'm here for you. You know that, don't you? And says, do you understand? Are you listening to me? Look at me. Look at my face. You're, you're, you're something, something. What's her name? What? Got to give her her name. This woman who could have saved us. What? Caitlyn. How about that? Caitlyn cuddles us. She balances us on her knees. I can't stand being fucking touched, but I'll let Caitlyn have a bit of a squeeze. Caitlyn's got enormous tits. And all she wants to do is take us in her arms. Oh, yes, please. To make us happy. To smooth away the pain. To love us. To stop Billy from saying fuck. And from Bobby calling her cunt. And from biting her neck and draining her blood. Caitlyn might have saved us. I heard of Caitlyn. For about a year I had her. When I was eight, maybe nine. I know I wasn't with her when I was 10. She had these huge tits. And she grabbed me and tucked me into them. I'd be standing there and she'd grab me. I'd be on the couch watching TV. And she'd grab me on my way to bed, to school. Just had to move. And she grabbed me and squeezed the fucking shit out of me. She squeezed me every chance she'd get. She squeezed the life out of me. She squeezed me to death. Used to have to hold my breath. Then when I was 10, someone else had me. Couldn't she save you? No. Too far gone. What's she doing squeezing you all the time? Love, you mean, I guess. I never had one of them, Caitlyn's. Neither did I. I love her. I love Caitlyn. I had them cold fucking fish bitches. The sit-up's straight. Don't touch that. That's a not-be-greedy-gotts-comma. Stop that, and stop that, and don't do that kind. One I had treated her dogs better than me. I had one I liked. She was nice. They growled at me when I went to get up and have a wee. Then I got sent back to my mom. That happened to me sometimes. It was the time I pissed my bed. I never had one of them big, titty, cuddly ones. Never could. I kicked the shit out of little dogs. Oh. Bobby, it's not the dog's fucking fault. Men. I had them. Plenty of them. Too many to sit on my knee and give me a kiss kind. The tongues slipping between your lips kind. This is just between you and me kind. This is our secret kind. The stink of their breath. Fuck, I can feel their whiskers and their fat fingers. They're hard fucking dicks. Yeah? Well, boo-hoo. Never mind. I was talking, and she says, there's nothing can be done. She's too far gone. Forsaken, she said. Forsaken? I think, what's this forsaken? Forsaken, like something taken from the Bible or something like totally fucked? And then I know who she's talking about. You know, who is this forsaken? Who's too far gone, who's past saving? And I start laughing. It's this Danny chick who's fat and ugly, fat, ugly bitch. And I think she's like, she's totally for fucking sake. And no doubt about it. Spot on. She's the one Danny ain't got a chance in hell. And then this bitch keeps talking. And it's about me. She's talking about me. I'm the one who's fucked. I'm forsaken. It's me. It's me. I'm forsaken. Me. Me. Fuck me. Me. Fuck off. Me. Fuck is saken. Me. A room. Sandra, fuck her face, her nose be broke. For sure. Her eye socket, too. I reckon. Other bones, ribs, collar bones. Likely. Stuff inside with the buddhas. Lean, maybe. Kid me. She'll have a bald spot where he pulled her hair out. I had that little girl back. I don't know about that. I could see it coming. Craig was just waiting for the opportunity. And she gave it to him. Shut the fuck up, Sandra. Shut up. She never shuts up. Don't fucking quiet, you stupid bitch. Bite your tongue. Stupid she is. Fucking is. Can't she see that Craig's arcing up? Gone dead in the eyes. Gone too quiet. Looking at her like with that smile. Is she fucking blind? Blah, blah, blah, blah, on and on. You're a fucking bastard, Craig. I saw you looking at that bitch. You're nothing but a fucking shit. God, you brainless bitch. Dumbass dog shit. Stupid cunt. And in Craig goes. Don't hold him back, brutal. Brutal. She'll go back. She won't. You watch her. She won't. I'll give her a month, stupid cunt. Some girls break it on. I'd punch her the way she'd go on. Brutal. I love a good fight. That was not a fight. Shit, no. Not a fair one. It was a massacre. All right, I mean, a real one. When you see stars and you taste blood, where your teeth have bitten into your lip, I fucking love them. Even when I lose them, it's like I'm the king of the world. Take me out. Come on, try it. Mom, Bobby, how about a round? No thanks. We'll stop when we draw blood. No. Are you scared? Terrified. Oh, I think you are. I think old Bobby's lost her nerve. You're right. I've lost it. Oh, fucking don't be a pussy. Fucking fight me. Call me a pussy. I don't hear you. Come on. Didn't you hear? What's it got to do with you? She's my protector. She'll fight you instead. I've never seen you back down from a fight. I don't want to fight Billy. I've fought her. I don't need to fight her again. I've never seen you lose. I've lost plenty. Too many. It took me a long time to learn when to fight and when to go dormant. You fight someone who will not hesitate to smash you fair square in the face or the throat or the guts. You just fucked yourself. If he's pissed or out of it, and you're sure you won't remember the fucking fight, hit it hard in the nuts, bash his head in with a brick, knock him out. But if he's with it, go soft. Drop like a cake all your way. Go limp and cover your face and hope to fucking God he won't lift you and hit you while you're down to kick you. Yeah, it's a risk plan, dad, a risk. Because you could fucking lay into you. You hope he'll forget you're there. That's when some of them fuck you. Yeah, yeah, they do. Let's not go there. It takes ages to get over a beating. It breaks your face. It breaks bones. It kills a beating. It does a fucking kills. Like Sandra likes you. Sandra be crying for a long time. And a boy, a pretty, a pretty boy, about the same age as me, I'm four, I think, maybe more. I haven't been with them that long. They're nice to me. I'm not hungry. We're at the beach. And I've never been at the beach before. And I don't like it much. The sand hurts between my toes. And the water stings because my legs have got sores on them. I'm watching the boy, the pretty boy. They tell me he's my brother. And them girls are my sisters. But they're not. I hate that. I don't like that sort of shit. All some are family as it is. He's full of himself, so full, so full to overflowing with himself. They love him. They love him, this family. His sisters do anything he wants. And he wants a lot. He orders them about. He stands with his hands on his hips and shouts. Sometimes he smacks them and leaves a red mark on their skin. And then he cries because he's sorry he's hurt them. They kiss him and kiss him. And his head falls back. And he giggles. The pretty boy. Beautiful, really. Oh, his father picks him up. He's told me he's my father, too. Oh, more of that shit. Because he's not. Where did they get him off? He picks up the boy and swings him up on his shoulders. And he stands at the waters that he points out to the sea. The father does as if he's saying to the boy, this is all yours for as far as you can see. The mother joins them, smiling up at them. Her eyes for the boy, the boy. Now his sisters are dancing around, adoring him. And there's this terrible noise. And it pierces their ears as it disturbs the peace. This terrible noise. And I can't believe it. It comes from me. Pain has come up like spew from deep inside me. They look around. And when they see that the noise is mine, they laugh. And are drawn back to the beautiful boy, forgetting me. Later, the boy is alone, playing a game in the shallows. He's giving orders to the waves as if they're his men. And he's leading them to shore. He's lost completely in his imagining. Nothing to worry him, to distract him, to disturb him from this world he's in. A world I've never been in. I've never, not once, not even for a second. And suddenly a wave, larger than the rest, comes and topples him. And here's my chance. You got him? Yes, I got him. I've got him, too. I've got him. Is he struggling? Not much. Don't let him fool you. When are we going to let him up? We're not. Got to let him up sometime. Why? Not going to kill him, are we? Yep. Why not? Shit, I don't want to kill him. Don't let him up. I just want to frighten him a bit and say, well, that's enough. Better hurry up. That's enough. Gone. You stay with my family, Mom? Not wrong. They didn't like me. They wake in ambush. A room. When's the last time you cry? Never cried. When you were a baby, you would have cried. Nope. All babies cry. Do they? For a while, they cry, and then they stop. I don't remember crying. Even when I've been slapped or punched or kicked, been square-hipped, once I coughed it right on the nose, my eyes watered and tears came down. They weren't real tears, not real ones. You've never been in that much pain? I don't feel pain. Bullshit. No, I'm not making it up. I just don't feel much. That's why I don't bother with slashing up. It does nothing for me. I don't get any release. Bullshit, come here and let's see if that's true. I'm happy to hurt you. I've got no time for tears, OK? I hate crybabies. They shit me with their tears. I don't cry. One boy had to live with cry all the time. All he had to do was look at him and he'd cry. He was the house punching bag. You pass him in the hallway, you hit him. You sit and you eat your dinner, and you kick him. He cried and someone would hit him and make him stop. And did he? Course not. I faked it plenty of times. I taped it on. That's shit. I'm going to miss. Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't. Don't. Please. Please, please, please don't touch me. How was I? Fuck me. That was very good. It should be on YouTube. Thank you. You telling me you never cried when you were a kid? Don't think I did. What about crying because you feel bad or sad about something? Oh, no. What about I have a sad film? No. What about for yourself just because you feel sad about life or something else? No. Is that weird? You never feel sad for anyone? No. Fuck them. Do you? Yeah. Sometimes. I think I do. I feel sad for my mom. Not so much now, but when I was young, I felt sad for her. I heard you. What? I heard you crying for your mom. Bull fucking shit, Billy. You did not. You were in the room next to mine, and they came in and told you your mom wasn't coming and you cried your head off. When was this? Oh, when we were in that busy unit one time. That was a long time ago. Where was I? You weren't in that one. Now everything's fine with my mom. I see her all the time. You see her. I saw her not that long ago. How long? He's up. Were you? I'm just interested, that's all. I don't know. A few weeks. Months ago. Really? You death or something? When's the last time you saw your mom? You kidding? Never see her. I fucking don't want to see her. I'd rather fucking die than see that fucking cunt. Oh, I don't get it. My mom does not deserve to be loved. She's a cunt. You shouldn't be angry with your mom. I'm not angry with her. I just don't give a shit about her. I never think about her. Bobby's mom's a cunt too. Don't call my mom a cunt even she is. Why bring my mom into this? You fucking hell, Billy. She's a junkie just like my mom. Yeah, that might be the case, but I love my mom. You do not. Of course she does. No, she doesn't. Billy, she does. You don't, do you? No, she's a cunt. Oh my god! I used to cry when I got hurt, but not for a long time. You don't cry because you feel sad? Oh, I don't like it crying. It's a waste of time, so I decided not to. You never feel sad? No, not really. Nor do I. I think it's all a lie, this feeling stuff. I don't reckon most people feel much. I think they feel fuck all. I don't really know anyone who's kind. Do you? There are kind of people that name one. I don't know their names. Because they don't exist. What about that Caitlyn? Caitlyn is weird, not kind. There are kind people, lots of them. Like them who give money to the poor. Exactly. Or Africa, where people are dying from starvation. I'm fucking starving. Oh, am I? Are you gonna fucking feed us? They don't have to, don't they? Are you gonna fucking feed us? They are not kind. Yeah, they're taught not to be kind. We're fucking starving in here! Looking for someone, anyone, a room. I want a horse. I want a dog. I want two dogs. So they can keep each other company. I want a house, a big one. And I want a pool and a barbecue. And I want curtains on my bedroom window and a bed queen size with sheets and duvet, a fridge. And I want it full of food. Open it and stuff falls out. It's so full of cheese and margarine and ice cream. In my life, I want- What right you got? What? I'm just saying what right you got to want all this. I can want. Let her want shit. What makes me think you can want and want? I can want. Can I? She can want if she wants to. Who are you to want? I'm just mean. I'm like you or anybody else. No, you're not. Leave her. I can want if you can want. I don't want. I don't want nothing. I do. I want things. I want things. And why do you? What's fucking wrong with wanting things? It's pathetic. It's a big, like you're still a kid. Adults want things. Like you're not full grown. It's like you're on your mommy's tits. Fuck off. I don't want like that. It's like you're not whole. Like you've got pieces missing. You're needy. Wanting isn't needy. I'm not needy. I just want a few things. What? What is it exactly that you want? I want us in a fridge and stuff. You're just wanting. You're wanting. You're wanting what? I just said you want too much. No, I don't. You're all right, aren't you? Yeah, I'm all right. I'm all right. What's wrong with you? Nothing. What is so bad about your life? Nothing. Just the wanting. Something. Wanting. Wanting. Wanting. Ralph, that sounds like to me. What about a baby? Is there anything wrong about wanting me wanting that? You want a baby? Yes, I think I do want one. It's natural to want a baby. Oh, natural. Most women want one. I do not want one. I said most. What for? What do you mean what for? What do you think? For the cash you get? No. Then what? To love it. That's why. Oh, fuck me. You want a baby so you can love it? What makes you think you're going to love it? Because that's what happens when you have a baby. You love it. Did you love it? Fuck off, Billy. Did you? Shut the fuck up. What are you talking about? Bobby had one and she didn't love it. You had a baby? Yes. When? Can't remember, years ago. How old? 12. What happened to it? Don't know. What was it? A baby. A boy or a girl? A boy or a girl. Shit, you never told me you had a baby? It was a long time ago. You mentioned a baby. I forgot. She had one and she didn't love it, didn't you? No. Do you think about it? No. Do you want to see it? No. Do you think you'll ever see it? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. You want a baby. It loves me. You're a baby, you're a big fucking baby. Why are you being so mean to me? I'm not being mean to you. Are a bit mean. No, I'm not. A bit mean. A lot fucking mean. You know, I'm trying to help her out. I wasn't so much a mean. I don't want her to be disappointed. Forget it. Forgive me for thinking I might like to change something. In somewhere, is that it? You want to change something. I wouldn't mind a change. You want your face lifted. You want your tits big. You want droplets. Fucking hell, forget it. I don't want nothing. I don't want to change nothing. I don't want from now. I got no wants. Just ask. You know what? I was 15 when I felt like shit, less than shit, and I couldn't stop feeling it. I'd sneak out early in the morning. Real early, like almost dark early and cold. And I think I've got to do something about this. I've got to stop it. Pull myself out of this shit. I'm sinking in it. I'm stinking of it. And I'd go out the window and down the road and onto the freeway and wait for someone to pull over and pick me up. And then he'd drive me, sometimes way out. Or sometimes he'd pull into a nearby street and park under a tree and then I'd buck him. And I'd think, I got you. I got you. I really got you and start to feel real. Feel like I could fuck the world and make it do anything I please. Something wrong with that. No, there's not. There is. What? Something I can't put my finger on. I don't give a fuck what you think. Something doesn't have it. It doesn't, right? I felt great. I felt real. I did. I do. Sure you do. Sex is great. Yeah, great. I love sex. I love it. Yeah, sure you do. When was the first time you had sex? Are you kidding me? What? You don't ask that. Why do you want to know that? What's wrong with you? You don't ask that. Okay. You don't. I said okay. Jesus, are you stupid or something? When was the first time you had sex? Oh my God. Don't just fucking talk shit. What's the big fucking deal? Don't fucking ask that. Got it. There's your answer, Samantha. We can't remember. I don't like these. I don't like them. I never wanted them. I got no use for them. They're ridiculous. Stupid. They're fucking stupid things that I don't want. They're a scene. And then bits, they're all of them. They've got nothing to do with me. I used to be slim. Beautiful slim. Lean, all muscle, no other bits, no shit handles, no crapping round bits. I fucking don't want this. I never wanted this. It wasn't for me. It's a fucking mistake. And I've delivered it. This mistake. This wrong, the wrongness of this. So out of luck. And this fuck, what the fuck is this? This is not mine. This has nothing to do with me. This fucking stink. This is too much. How the hell do I live with this? This bleed, this muck, this stink. That's not mine. That's got nothing to do with me. That belongs to that bitch and that bitch. Not me. I've got great tits. I've got great tits. Yeah, not bad. Not bad, they're good. Who says? I've been told lots of times. I've had them yell out of cars. I can't tell you how many times I've had them grope in at them. They like them that much. I've had them making gestures at them from across bars. They're too small. No, they're not. Yeah, I'm letting you know they're not that good. Fuck you, they're good. They're like pancakes. They are like squashed. They are fucking not. I'm sorry to be the one telling you the truth. I like them. That's good. I think they're good. That's good. I like them. Good. Yours are perfect, I suppose. They are. I've got a great ass. I've got a great ass. You've got no ass. I've heart-shaped ass, my ass. Heart-shaped? Forget it, you've got no ass. That's you, bony ass. Fuck off, I'm shapely. You're like a table-ting, table-leg shapely. Oh, I've got great legs. I've got great legs. You have not. I think with my legs. Yeah, you've got cankles. Cankles? I have not got cankles. You've got no sex appeal. Bullshit. I've got sex appeal. I got so much sex appeal. I got it like if I don't tap. I've got it. They can't keep their hands on me. They can't. And want me. Sex appeal. Who the fuck's the bomb? That fat girl in the house, the one who, you know, stopped talking, looked so glum, and she was so, so, so fucking sad all the time. I don't look like a bomb. Yeah, you're sexy as a bomb. That's you. You're a bomb. Uh, no way. I'm alive. I'm on fire. You're so much a bomb. Blank it off. They resounded a run. The three women emerged from the dark edges. They run together like hunting dogs. A room. Women shit you. Oh, here we go. We know, we know. They don't weigh in. Yeah, yeah. They're not in for the count. Yeah, yeah, yeah. They don't play and don't mark the ball. They don't kick, hit, they strike. No goals. Yeah, yeah. But they're whining. And they're crying. And they're bitching. And they're talking shit. Yeah, well. Who is talking shit? My god, how much shit they can talk? They're full of it. Women are shit. Yeah, well. And they're stupid skirts. And they're tiny fucking shorts. And they're fucking high heels. And they're fucking fat tits. What can you say about them? Nothing. Yeah, well, that's. They don't do anything. They don't make anything. They don't have anything. They sit around on their asses. Yeah. Always want to be looked at, to be seen. Talking too loud. Talking obscene. Talking like, oh, they love it up the ass. Sucking cock. Oh, drinking con. They're tits being bit. Like they love it with that one. And that one. Yeah, queue it up. Bring it on. Talking shit. Just, they are shit. Not shit. God, they're orange faces. And they're smelly armpits. And they're stinking holes. God, stop up screeching. Stop their silly giggling. And their tits all jiggling. Thinking there's someone. There's nothing. They're shit. That's it. Shit. I'm not shit. I'm not shit. And hey, hey, hey, hey. What's with all the things? Yeah. What do you mean, they don't do this? They don't do that. Yeah. They can't run. They can't fight. They can't save themselves a big try. I used to run. Who from in events? I run lots of times. But you stopped. They go on and on and on. But what they've not got? Not got love. Not got respect. Not got kids. Not got money. Got nowhere to live. On and on and on about what's been done to them. Oh, he did this. He touched me. He jumped me. He made me suck his cock. Who gives a shit? No one's listening. No one gives a fuck. It's not fair. It's not right. Oh my god. Get a life. Face it. You're shit. All right? Shit. Who's you? And all of them they. Yeah, who are you? You forget? Don't you know? You're them too. How come you forgot? You talk like you're a bloke. What's with that? Oh, quiet and laugh. Got nothing more to say. Not really. You don't, do you? Oh my god. You do. What do you call them? I call them tits. You got a dick? Yeah, show us your dick. Give us a love. Oh, what's wrong? Let me suck your dick. Come on, big boy. Get it out. Do you really think you're not one of us? You can't. You honestly think you're not a chick. Oh my god. Oh my god. You do. You think you're a man. You think you're a fucking man. Pull down your pants. She said, pull down your pants. Pull down your fucking pants. Sam pulls Bobby's trousers down to her knees. You're no fucking different from us. You're a cunt. What are you? A cunt. You want security? A cunt. I'm sorry, what? A cunt. I didn't hear you. A cunt! That's right. A room. You shouldn't have looked at him. I didn't. You did. I didn't. Yes, you did. No, I didn't. For fuck's sake, you did. We saw you. We saw you. All right, you did. It's a fucking free country. I can look at it if I want. Why did you? Why not? Because you wanted him. Nope. Because you wanted to give Sandra the shit. She made a girl offer tips. Yeah, fuck her. You did. Well and truly. She gives me the shit. What she done to you. She thinks she's king shit. Bitch. Who you calling bitch? We're here because of you. It's true. No, that's not why we're here. You started it. You did. With your little game. You got Sandra all bothered. You got her all hot. I'm doing the collar. No, no, no. What's that got to do with what came later? Because she's at Craig. Adam and Adam. And then he snaps. And he batches her. And I repeat, what's that got to do with what came later? Craig bashing Sandra. Craig smashing Sandra. Sturred us up. Unsettled us. Gave us a hunger. Oh, a hunger? Yeah, kind of. Yeah, kind of. A fucking hunger. Get that. Exactly that. Looking for something. Anything. Someone. Anyone. Anyone. And she came along. She came along. Whoever the fuck she was. Poor bitch. Poor bitch. Poor bitch. Because of your looking. Shut the fuck up. You've done that to me. What? You've tried to con on to all the blokes I have. You never had a bloke worth looking at. I'd have a lot more if it wasn't you looking at them trying to take them off. Believe me, I don't look at your blokes. Mick. You looked at Mick. And then he didn't want me anymore. Oh, Mick. Please, don't make me sick. You can't help yourself if you slut. What did you call me? A slut. You want to say that again? Slut. Slut. They're in for the fight. Slow down. What have we done? Shhh. We're tight. Real tight. We're right. We are right. We're not right. We're fucked. We're night night. Go ahead. Don't let me think. Yeah, you think. You have to fucking think. It's wrong. It's wrong. It's wrong. What are we going to do? Shut the fuck up. Oh my god. What's she done? What's she done? She done nothing. Nothing. She was just there. Yeah. Yeah, just there. Yeah. In the wrong place. In the wrong time. Yeah. All right, who's seen us? No one? Who knows? No one. Us. We know. So? You're not going to go blabbing. You're not going to say nothing. I'm zipped. Nothing to worry about. That's it. Just something snapped. Snapped. Can't go back. Can't go back. We're shit. We're right. We're shit. We're right. We're shit. We're right. We're fucked. In a lineup. They'll split us. For sure. No, they won't. Will they? For sure. They'll divide us. No way. You never would have done it if it wasn't for her or her this day. Who was it? They gave the word. Who gave the first kick? Who's the leader in all this? Who's the bad apple in the barrel? They'll ask us to spill our guts. I'd never do that. Be over it. I'd never. Yeah, lots of rats say that. I'd never. We're in this together. They'll split us. They'll send us far, far away. No phone calls, no contact. They can't do that. They can do whatever they want. I'm not going anywhere without you. You're going wherever they want you to. No, no, fucking way. I want to be with you. They decide. Not you. No, I don't want to be without you. Well, we're no good for you, they'll say. Yes, you are. You're good for me. Of that influence. No, they're wrong. They don't care. I do. Do something. Tell them it can't be. Sam, what did you think? That they'd keep us together? Yes, I did. They'll split us. We won't see each other again. Are you? You look like you're crying. You do. You are. You are. You're crying. End of play. Yeah, that's good. OK, well, thank you very much. Thank you for such a wonderful reading. That was really exceptionally wonderful. So my name's Peter Eccasord. I'm the executive officer of the PhD program in theater here. But I'm also from Melbourne, Australia, which are you born here in Melbourne? Which is where this play comes from, this wonderful play that we just saw written by Patricia Cornelius. And Patricia's been able to come over on the long haul from, it's about, I don't know if you've ever been there, but it's a very long flight or series of flights to get here. So thank you so much for coming. It's a real pleasure to welcome you to Siegel Center, to the Graduate Center and to New York. And to hear this play that is, I've read the play, and it's done, had a very good season in Australia directed by a close friend of both of us, Susie Dee. So it's very interesting to hear this play, I think, in a different vernacular. Because I think one of the things that Patricia's work is very good at is writing in vernacular language, writing language of very particular groups of people, working class people, outcasts, and in this case, really, I think a very particular group of young women who would be, I think, in sociological vernacular turned at risk. I guess risk is a big thing in this play. And in this really nice reading that was directed by Katie Ball, so thank you to you. And we've got Britt Faulkner, Shelly Ford, and Elise Liberton doing really a superb reading. And I'll come back to the question of the language in a minute, but just to begin, Patricia, I just wanted to ask you a little bit about where this play came from. How did you come to write this play and what was the context for it in the Australian context initially? Where did you see this play going? It happened in a larger context with actually two other writers and a group of directors and all female. And it was a response to the question of actually women in theatre and about how a lot of plays in Australia and elsewhere were engaging with a very powerful men in theatre and the men taking the stage in a very visceral and physical way. And very exciting. People loved it and I loved it, but there's this extraordinary sub-absence of women kind of being able to take the stage in a kind of real and in the sense of a physical way. And so we were developing works and they became separate. And I went with this one further and further and I was absolutely kind of looking for a very unsentimental and kind of true picture of the women that I see in the trams and who might actually both fear and love. But in my tram, local tram is quite famous for going down. I don't know whether a tram is like a very local form of public transport in Melbourne. And tram lines run into different parts of the city and depending on your tram line there's all sorts of demographic associations about the neighborhood and the class of the neighborhood you live in. And trams have very different atmospheres, I guess. Yeah, so my tram is a really great route to picking up some drugs before you get into the city. It's kind of fabulous and tough and great for a playwright. Okay, but also the underclass in Australia is growing daily. And that underclass is, it's an appalling thing but it's also a frightening thing because a lot of people are very angry and a lot of people do shocking things. And I was all that stuff I wanted to address. It's really interesting because we know that there's been a very strong conversation about the scarcity of women directors in Australia and theater recently. I think that conversation's also taken place here to a degree. And that the Australian vernacular voice was developed through a series of male playwrights in the 1960s and 70s. And the Australian theater is very famous for this iconic generation of often working class playwrights or playwrights writing in the working class vernacular but they're all male with one or two exceptions. And it took another generation and people like yourself to begin to explore this very similar sensibility from the point of view of women playwrights, women directors and women running companies. Patricia's had a long involvement in Melbourne Theater going back many decades and is the co-founder of Melbourne Workers Theater and been involved in very strong productions that really do capture the kind of fractures of society, the moments of anger, but also I guess the moments you have a capacity, I think, to dwell in these areas in a way that is extremely human. And I think that's something that's very interesting about the play, this particular play and also the use of poetry in the play, I think it's really striking because this is the play with all the swearing, an extraordinary opening scene. It's a little bit like that scene in The Wire where they only use the word fuck for, I think, 10 minutes. It's a beautiful scene and it was so wonderfully performed but there's this question of language and poetry, I think, in your work, that's something that's very interesting. Do you have anything to say about that? Have you thought? I think slice of life plays where you get that absolute accuracy in language and the fact is that swearing or the vernacular can be really tedious. So you're always like, oh my God, fuck, there's fuck, fuck, and all that you can't. After a while, the ugliness of it kind of wears you down and so kind of think the poetry, the grungy poetry kind of steals or enables you to, the authenticity of the language and the power of it without it kind of wearing you down. I think a few people wore down by it. Not two. I was like, I think if you come to a play, really old play that's called shit, you kind of know that you're in for something that there's a sense of mourning in it. I mean, there is a long history of vernacular poet, bush poet, kind of, which doesn't have a very good reputation in I guess theater or literary circles, but what that becomes in Australian theater is very interesting, the generation of playwrights who use this language in an incredibly fluid kind of and very beautiful way. So congratulations on that. Katie, coming to this play without knowing anything about the context of it or the background or I think you met Patricia yesterday or the day before. This morning. So this morning, what were your impressions of somebody who has to turn it into an accomplished reading in a very short amount of time? Yeah, it was, I had no idea what to expect. Somebody called me up and they were like, there's this play called shit, we'd like you to direct it by this Australian writer. And the whole process starting from when I began reading it through today has been a continual evolving discovery of the play both in terms of the depth of the content, but also the structures that Patricia has put in. And I think the first thing that jumped out of me on the page was the incredible energy of the writing and it hooked me right away with that first monologue. But then there's this amazing stage direction that describes these women like snapping their fingers and sort of strutting their stuff and having like a secret homage to West Side Story. And there was something that made me immediately lean into that. You know, like first of all, who are these women? Who are these characters? But also who is this writer? What is this mind that's putting this world together? So I had no idea what to expect. It's sort of like a treasure chest that kept opening. And also Patricia is one of those writers that I really love as a director who doesn't tell you everything on the page. She just says that there's a series of scenes that happen in a room and a series of scenes that happen in another time and another place. And so what was really rich about our rehearsal process was discovering the story of what was happening. First of all, what is this room? Which we didn't actually know when we started. Where are they? We came to feel like they were in prison. But what is the event and how does the event play out? And what are the steps of those stories that happen outside of the room and the way Patricia's put those, layered those two times on together? So I think we still came to today with still a ton of questions that would be really exciting if we could go into a real rehearsal process. We could keep discovering. But the play really does give those answers to you as you dig into it, which is really fantastic. It really struck me that the language really transferred extremely well into the American context. Yeah. And I don't know what you thought, Patricia, but I was kind of watching this play with kind of two minds because I could see the kind of Australian connections and the use of language. Just quite different use of language to I think American English. We were curious about that going into it if we would sort of run into stumbling blocks. And while there are Australianisms with some word choices, the pace and the rhythm is really exceptional. Completely translates across continent, I think. Yeah. Just to ask the three actors, Britt, Shelley, and Elise, how you felt coming to this play? Were you one? Because you seem to inhabit the roles really, really wonderfully. So. I was struck by, I also had a lot of questions coming in about how is this, how will our experiences as Americans inform us working on this play by an Australian playwright and was immediately struck on the first day by the really terrible fact that in most countries in the world, you'll find young women who have been classified as unacceptable. You will find young women who are in a situation that these characters are in with struggling with a lot of poverty and very few resources to navigate all the things that life is throwing at them. And that aspect of it is, was very easy to enter, even being someone from a different country than the playwright. And that was my first in, because I recognized the women in this play, the people in this play. I think I was just excited, so excited to use these words as a woman and as an actress. I don't know any other characters who get to talk like this. So entering in that way, being like, oh, my inner monologue, running to the train, my frustration is somewhat similar to this sometimes. So that was my end. Katie, kind of, what I loved about working on this piece is that the language was able to hold our experiences so fully. And the way we worked on it was a very physical way, which I like as an actor. So, yeah, it was great. It's such a gift to get to express anger in this way in such a crafted way and figure out the humor that also lies in a woman's experience in this world. Just how hilarious it is at times when things are so desolate and sad and heavy. So that was a gift, yes. I'll just say one thing that I knew. I've known these women for a long time, that we share a graduate school background, and I knew I wanted to get in the room with people I already knew, because I wanted to be able to have the comfort level to be able to say, like, okay, so grab your tits here. And that was really important. I wanted that to be our zero so that we could be comfortable to really explore. And we're all college-educated women, and these are not college-educated women. So that was one of our first big conversations. It's not that their intelligence level is necessarily lower, although that might be, we might discover that, but their education level is, and how can that be one transformative key? Yeah, there's also a... I mean, a number of us have worked in, I guess, community theater outreach programs with people with various difficulties in their lives. And we've reached a stage where just people's emotions are very unstable, and very often their bodies are actually underdeveloped because they've experienced hunger or they've experienced a lack of affection or they've experienced very dystopian relationships. And the Australian sociologist talks about a politics of this, where he says what happens when the mother is a torturer, when somebody grows up in that environment, and he uses that as a metaphor to describe a kind of political condition. But there are really very distinct physicalities associated with people who've experienced lives that have had such hardship, and I just think it's a rare feat for an artist to really be able to explore that in a way that is one very human and in another way that is able to show us something about that in a way that we can feel compassion and empathy, but also feel like we're not just being voyeurs on somebody else's really kind of horrible life. So I found the play really remarkable for that, and I think it's something to do with this balance of humour and compassion and anger and rage and fear that you've, I think, put into the text and that I think you explored in the performance so wonderfully. Frank, have we got time for just a couple of questions from the audience? Would anybody like to make a comment, or we've got a microphone coming. So we are recording this session for posterity, so please use the microphone. I was just curious about, you know, we see this from a female perspective because we know these are three girls, but there are so many times in the play where all the gender is really fluid. So we find that I think because women are supposed to be nice, or women aren't supposed to be mean, are some of the things that I think play into that. The gender, I thought for a moment, if they were all male, we would only be laughing. We wouldn't feel all of those, the mother, the women under oppression in poverty. If three males were doing this, I think we would only find humor. We wouldn't see the cut side. That is something I thought. Did you, I mean, you obviously played around a lot with the, sort of, did you think about that from a male perspective, I guess? No, I sort of didn't. I didn't even give them a thought. It's not, I'm sort of, I feel like I was truly wanting to explore a female perspective and the females who are kind of fighting back and using language and have no sense of themselves as victims, so there's something powerful in that. But I'm not sure I agree with you that I wouldn't feel if there were three young men. I mean, obviously the pregnancy would have to be rewritten, but there's a sense of the vulnerability of people who have experienced nothing, but, well, poverty, but also been denied any kind of, any presence or any power whatsoever. I think that is sort of a genderless, but, you know, there are particular things about women's rights. It's very particular, of course. Thank you very much to everybody. I guess it's a question for you, primarily, as writer, which is who your influences are in terms of a kind of tradition of women writing in this way, because I kept thinking of Andrea Dunbar, Rita Sue and Bob too, the arbor, you know, her writing about working-class life on Bradford Council estates in England at home, writing in quite a kind of course language, but also giving working-class characters interiority because, of course, which is a kind of second sub-question about how we try to find balance between representation and caricature. So two questions there, really. Who are you drawing from in terms of your writing influences? Because I kept seeing Dunbar there and how we tread a fine line in terms of representation and caricature. There's no doubt that I've been influenced by many, many writers. But I think, I wish I could know when I knew about the evil of sentimentality. And so as soon as I was onto that, and there are plenty of writers that kind of provided that background to me, is that once you seep into some sac from kind of pity me, or this is what happened, they're all victim or a sense of romanticizing of characters, then the theatre that makes me sick is actually an insult and an occurrence because they're not real and it's some sort of cover-up that we are experiencing. What was the second part of the question? The second was about the balance. The fine balance between representation and caricature. He asked him that in a context of representing working-class voices. And I'm from a working-class background and this is a big discussion amongst artist friends at home. I think the experience mostly, especially in film, but in working-class works, is that you get that highly romanticized notion like we will fight, we will fight, and we will lose. But in the fight is glory and power, but we will lose. And so there's a kind of tradition where the working-class are kind of heightened and the fact that the loss is just slightly sad, but they'll rise again and actually the defeat of the union movement in the working-class has been pretty dire and people do not rise up again after they've been crushed. So I feel like the balance with caricature is always a dangerous game, is when you're writing, trying to find a voice that is truly reflective of a class. But I also think that the danger is that there's a kind of weird mimicry that you can be very accurate, but not very powerful in that accuracy. So the balance for me is actually talking about the humour again and being able, how far can you go into the kind of misery, and you can go quite far if the actual character doesn't kind of see it as such. So you can kind of go, well, fuck me. I'll hit you this shit. I'll be fucked. Yeah, who hasn't? There's a kind of flippancy that is kind of delightful really. And at the same time, I'm told that either finding the humour or I'll be fucked is sort of, there's a delight there in the balance. And those things are balanced. I mean, how it reflects in Australia, in Australia drama schools are filled with middle class, very overly or well educated young people who ought to be able to kind of transcend their own class in terms of how they're to represent, because I don't necessarily think everybody has to be working class to represent working class. But you kind of go, you know, the sound of them and they can't transcend their own class. And so we have all the problems with kind of finding, be able to find the voice because otherwise it's just shocking. And you just spend the whole time wincing. Yeah. Time for one more question and then we'll set up for the next... We'll be sure. Well, in that case, okay. Oh, sorry. It is interesting. I've never been to Australia, but I work in social service programs. I work in the Syringe Exchange active drug users. And this just ranks so true. The dialogue was so authentic. It was amazing to me. And what is beautiful about it is the time... I can't really emotional. You're seeing this really, I don't know if you want to say good side, but sensitive side of them at the same time. Thank you so much. Well, once again, thank you to the wonderful company of readers and directors. Thank you. So, I appreciate it. We'll be around for another couple of minutes if you want to talk to her.