Cover

Title

IRVINE WELSH
AND
DEAN CAVANAGH

Babylon
Heights

W. W. Norton & Company

New York    London

Introduction

Introduction

In 1935, in depression America, MGM studios in Hollywood embarked on a major film project: a movie adaptation of L. Frank Baum’s book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. The resulting film not only lived up to the old cliché of becoming a timeless cinematic classic, it also propelled the first modern fable from America into the popular universal cultural heritage, putting Oz-lore alongside the likes of Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

The production was highly ambitious; among other things, it called for the casting of many dwarfs, who would play the little people of the mythical land of Oz, the Munchkins. The studio began the recruitment of the small persons, not just from all corners of the USA, but from all over the world.

This mass importation of dwarfs into Hollywood was not always the delightful, benevolent and painless process as suggested by the optimistic and uplifting movie. In keeping with the uninformed spirit of discrimination that prevailed against visibly different people back in those days, all the dwarf performers were billeted in the Culver Hotel, separate from the rest of the cast and crew.

Once settled, the small performers behaved in much the same way any other group of people leaving home to work on an exciting new project would. Rumours persisted of wild Munchkin parties and drunken behaviour. Judy Garland herself made reference to this in 1967, disparaging the dwarf performers as ‘little drunks’ on live television. The plethora of official and fan-based literature growing up around The Wizard of Oz has generally sought to play this down, usually dismissing the remark as ‘a joke’.

However, Garland’s hints of dwarf debauchery merely echoed comments made by the film’s producer Mervyn LeRoy. At the time of the motion picture’s release, he also ‘joked’ of Munchkin sex orgies and police regularly being called to the hotel. Interestingly, Judy Garland’s daughters would later echo their mother’s claims.

Clearly, given the nature of any Hollywood production, the time people spend away from their homes on demanding film sets and stuck in claustrophobic hotel rooms, the absence of the rowdy excesses often associated with the film industry would be rather peculiar.

More sinisterly, the macabre assertion that a Munchkin committed suicide by hanging himself on the set, during filming, has become a persistent Hollywood myth. This is said to be visible in the final print of the movie, supposedly at the Tin Man scene, where what certainly looks like a small human body is clearly visible hanging from a tree. Official sources have disparaged this contention, claiming that this figure was simply a bird. We’ll probably never find out what actually happened, but imagine that a Munchkin did indeed hang himself. What could have possibly driven him to such a desperate act?

Babylon Heights

This play is dedicated to the memory of Julia De Vittoris (1965–2001) whose ‘lust for life’ was second to none.

‘Even giants get lost in Hollywood.’
Bert Kowalski

Characters

Bert Kowalski, mid-forties, born in New Jersey, grew up in poverty, he has spent most of his adult life performing in circuses and freak shows. As a result he has formed a harsh view of performing dwarf life, basically believing that it is undignified humiliation for money. His cynical, wise-guy behaviour is his defence against the harsh world.

Bert’s dwarfism probably comes from non-genetic causes: chronic kidney diseases, diseases where the body doesn’t absorb protein normally (cystic fibrosis etc.), malnutrition in early life or heart and lung disease.

Charles Merryweather, early twenties, born in Streatham, London, he comes from a middle-class family. His father was a doctor who was guilty of not recognising that his son suffered from Turner’s syndrome. As well as restricted growth, Turner’s syndrome sufferers are also characterised by diminished or absent sex glands and no puberty. Thus Charles has little concept of sex or sexuality. His voice is quite high and he will look like a young boy.

His early life was largely innocent and idyllic, spent playing, often alone, in the large family garden, which gave him a love of nature. He went on to find employment as a gardener at Kew Gardens, his life in the workforce a far harsher experience.

Raymond Benedict-Porter, late forties, born in Vermont, he comes from a well-to-do New England family. Although he has done the same ‘dwarf circuit’ as Bert, Raymond has always had serious thespian ambitions. He probably suffers from chondrodystrophy, a form of dwarfism believed to be hereditary.

Like many such affected persons, Raymond is physically very strong and dexterous. He has a high self-regard, seeing himself as an actor, whose height is almost an irrelevant factor. When he does acknowledge his condition, he is more likely to look to artistic dwarfs like nineteenth-century French painter Toulouse-Lautrec for inspiration, rather than to his peers.

Philomena Kinsella, mid-twenties, born in County Kerry, Ireland, she probably suffers from pituitary dwarfism, which is caused by the body producing insufficient growth hormones. In the present day, like many other forms of the condition, this has been all but wiped out. With pituitary dwarfism, the sufferer’s proportions are normal and they tend to have a doll-like appearance and are often possessed with above average intelligence.

Philomena comes from a remote and rural part of Ireland, where old myths regarding the ‘little people’ still held sway at the turn of the last century. Irish leprechauns are associated with trees and bushes and some peasant people who have had a dwarf child believe it is their duty to ‘give them to the little people’ i.e. leave them in the woods for other leprechauns to look after.

The requirement to lead this kind of subsistence life is probably why leprechauns have the association with mischief, trickery and deviousness. Like many of them, Philomena would have needed to steal and con, usually from local farmers, simply in order to survive.

Settings

Act One, Scene One: 1930s hotel room in Culver City, California.

Act One, Scene Two: a restaurant dining room in Culver City.

Act Two: 1930s hotel room in Culver City, California.

Staging Notes

In order to maximise audience empathy with the ‘trapped’ dwarfs, the four actors who play the Munchkins will be of ‘regular’ size. Instead, the stage equipment – beds, doors, table, etc. – will be outsized. The production is best suited to a small space, probably a ‘black box’ stage, which should feel tight and claustrophobic, where the audience will be very close to the production.

The only reference to the outside world is the booming offstage voice of the ‘normal people’, which should be intrusive and threatening.

Act One

Act One

Scene One

We hear the strains of the song ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ and the lights go up on a mid-1930s hotel room. There are four beds, four chairs, a dressing table, mirror on the wall, a sink, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers with a telephone on top, a door rear centre-stage and one to the left leading to a bathroom. A set of Hotel Regulations is posted on the wall.

Everything is outsized; the beds are twelve-foot long and eight-foot wide, and the door is at least twelve-foot high.

Bert – New Jersey accent, forties, shabbily suited, with a permanent scowl etched on to his face, carrying a battered outsized suitcase – pushes the door open and stands at the threshold looking in.

As the music fades we hear a voice offstage.

Booming male voice (off)     There you go, shorty. Make the most of it. (Laughter.)

Bert looks up in the direction of the voice, glares, steps in and shuts the door behind him. Bert is forever wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.

Bert    Cocksucker!

He sighs, puts down his case and explores the room. He views it with disdain.

. . . cheap lousy cocksucken . . .

He coughs loudly and climbs up on to the bed and begins to jump up and down on it as he starts to undress. As he is trying to take off one of his shoes he falters, staggers and falls off the bed, crashing to the floor.

(Clambering to his feet.) Fuck!

Going to his case, Bert sits down on it and lights a cigarette (three times the regular size). He looks around the room and shakes his head. He pulls the sleeve of his jacket back to reveal his watch. It is three times the regular size of a watch. He reads it and pulls the sleeve back over it. He stares out at us for a while, smoking, then gets up and opens his case. He pulls out a script (three times the regular size), sits back down and flicks through it.

. . . shit. Piece o’ goddam shit . . .

He coughs again and goes to the chair, puts it in position, climbs up and picks up the phone.

. . . that the desk? . . . yeah, Michigan . . . uh? . . . yeah, yeah, I hear ya . . . OK, OK . . . fuck you very much, OK . . . yeah, that’s right, you heard me right, honey: fuck you very much, OK.

He slams the phone on the hook and climbs down.

Asshole!

He goes back to his case, picks it up and takes it over to the chest of drawers. He opens the bottom drawer and starts to put his clothes in.

The door opens and Charles – English, early twenties, nervous, suited, carrying a case – enters. He puts his case down and surveys the room. He is clearly impressed with it.

Bert    Don’t even think about calling out.

Charles    Calling out?

Bert    Lousy studio cocksuckers.

Charles    Ah . . .

Bert    Sucks you ask me, kid.

Charles heads over to Bert.

Charles (extending his hand)     Charles Merryweather, London, England.

Bert glances at Charles’s hand and carries on putting his clothes away.

Bert    Bert Kowalski, no fixed abode.

Charles waits, then awkwardly rubs his hands against his trousers and explores the room.

Charles    . . . Culver Heights, the name alone – smashing. The grounds – so beautiful! The flora and fauna, those gorgeous palm trees! You think they might have some picture postcards for sale?

Bert    Picture postcards?

Charles    To send home.

Bert    You one of Singer’s?

Charles    I didn’t know I would have to sing –

Bert    No, Singer’s mob, Leo Singer, the schmuck who got the MGM contract to recruit the likes of us.

Charles    Ah, yes.

Bert closes the drawer and climbs up on the bed.

Bert (delving into his pocket)     You smoke?

Charles    That’s very kind.

Bert pulls out a lighter and waits.

Bert    . . . Well?

Charles cottons on.

Charles    Oh, right, I see.

Charles pulls out a cigarette case and offers it up to Bert. Bert has to reach down to take a cigarette.

Bert (lighting it up)     I heard somewhere cigarettes stunt your growth.

Charles    Oh?

Bert    I don’t listen to gossip though.

Charles frowns and lights his cigarette.

Bert    So, they’ve got midgets in England then, uh?

Charles (affronted)     Midgets?

Bert    English, right?

Charles    You said –

Bert points to himself and Charles.

Bert    Dwarfs, leprechauns, Munchkins, little people . . . freaks. You know, fucken midgets.

Charles sighs and goes to his case. He picks it up and heads over to the chest of drawers.

Bert (watching Charles put his clothes away)     You read the storyplay yet?

Charles    The story, yes, I’ve –

Bert    What you think?

Charles    I think it’s very well written.

Bert    That mean you like it?

Charles    Yes, yes, I wouldn’t be out here if I didn’t believe it had artistic merit.

Bert laughs and lies back on the bed. Charles sighs and continues putting his belongings away.

Charles    Have I said something funny?

Bert    . . . artistic merit?

Charles    Well, yes, yes, it’s very –

Bert    It ain’t your fucken Shakespeare, right? Alas, poor Tin Woodsman, I knew him well. Piece o’ sophomore shit you ask me. You ask me it’s a fucken waste o’ time piece o’ shit.

Charles    I must, really, I mean, I must say I find your language . . . well . . .

Bert    Yeah?

Charles    I . . . I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot here.

Bert     Wrong foot? What’re you trying – spit it out, uh, just spit it, OK.

Charles    . . . Well . . . well, what I mean is, I mean I’m unused to it.

Bert    American? You’re not – you’re unused to the American language, you don’t understand me, right? That it, Charlie? You don’t understand me?

Charles    No, I mean, I mean yes I understand you, I understand, it’s just, don’t take this the wrong way.

Bert    I won’t, what is it, what’re you trying to say? You wanna spit it out for me?

Charles    I find it very coarse.

Bert    American?

Charles    I don’t –

Bert    You find American coarse?

Charles (closing the drawer)     Yes, I mean, no, I mean –

Bert    Sounds to me you don’t know what you mean.

Charles    It’s the . . . you know, the – must you use vulgarities?

Bert    Like midget? You mean like midget, right?

Charles fingers his temples, exasperated. He takes a deep breath. He goes to the bed and looks up at Bert.

Charles    I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot here. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together and I, I think it only right and proper that we try to get along. I’m just not, I mean, I find it very . . . well, it’s very off – its off-putting.

Bert laughs at Charles.

Bert    . . . I’m fucken shitting you, kid. I know what you mean, I know what you’re trying to say . . . Charlie?

Charles    Yes?

Bert    No sweat, OK? I get it, Charlie. You find it – what’s that again? – coarse, right?

Charles    Well, yes, yes if you must –

Bert    I like it, I like it, Charlie, fucken coarse, great word, don’t you go worrying about my coarse language, OK?

Charles    Um . . .

Bert lies back. Charles frowns and heads towards the bathroom.

Bert    Hey, open the window if you’re cutting logs in there, OK?

Charles    Cutting logs?

Bert    Figure o’ speech: American. Just open the window, just do me a favour and open the window if you can reach it.

Charles enters the bathroom, Bert laughs to himself.

Bert    . . . fucken jerk!

Charles returns from the bathroom, shoves the chair to where the phone is and climbs up. He picks it up.

Charles    Um, yes, ah, this is Mr Charles Merryweather in room – yes, yes, of course I’ll hold . . . (Turning to Bert.) There’s no paper in there.

Bert    You really gonna let that fucken harlot on the desk know you need to take a shit? Don’t shatter the whore’s illusion o’ midgets. I got some paper in my case you can borrow, and when I say borrow I ain’t meaning I want it back, you get my drift?

Charles puts the phone down and gets off the chair. Bert climbs down from the bed, opens his case and hands Charles a toilet roll (three times the regular size).

Bert    . . . stayed in these roach hotels before. Last thing they think of in these fucken roach hotels is ass-wipes.

Charles (heading back to bathroom)     That’s very generous. Thank you.

Bert    Hey, think nothing of it. Us midgets gotta stick together. We’re a dying breed, I heard somewhere we’re gonna be extinct by the fifties, I don’t listen to gossip
though.

Charles    That’s – where did you hear that?

Bert    I told you, kid: I don’t listen to gossip, and you know something, you know something and you want my advice, you don’t listen to it either, OK?

Charles    . . . Right. Thank you. I won’t.

Charles pauses and closes the door behind him.

Bert goes to Charles’s drawer and rummages through it. He finds a wad of dollar bills. He smiles to himself, peels a couple off and looks as though he is about to pocket them. He stops, thinks better of it, puts them back in the wad and closes the drawer. He goes to his case and pulls out a pipe (three times the regular size) and a small package wrapped in brown paper. He fetches the chair and climbs up on the bed. He goes through the ritual of packing the pipe and lighting it up.

Charles returns from the bathroom, holding the toilet roll. He looks on as Bert smokes the pipe. Bert notices Charles’s shock.

Bert    Whatsamatter? You never seen a bronchiatric dwarf before? I gotta smoke this shit; opens up the lungs.

Charles    Oh, dear, excuse me, I didn’t mean to . . . I didn’t mean to stare.

Bert    Kind o’ fucken upbringing you ain’t ever seen no bronchiatric dwarf, huh?

Charles puts the toilet roll down next to Bert’s case. Bert tokes on the pipe and settles back on to the bed. Charles puts his hands in his pockets and paces around, every now and then looking over at Bert. Bert is now nodding in and out of consciousness.

Charles    Are you all right, Mr Kowalski?

Long pause.

Bert    Kinda shit did you do back in England, Charlie?

Charles    Sorry?

Bert    Work. What kinda work ya do? There ain’t blue blood in those little veins of yours . . . you ain’t like fucken royalty or shit back there, are ya?

Charles (bowing his head)     Oh no . . . no. Nothing like that! Although I did have a position as a gardener at the Royal Gardens in Kew.

Bert picks up the pipe and package.

Bert    . . . thought I could be in the presence of fucken royalty . . . you just never know nowadays . . . Could you . . . put these back in my case, Charlie . . . put these back in my
case . . .

Charles climbs up on to the bed and picks up the pipe as Bert nods off.

We heard thumping and shuffling noises as the door opens. Raymond – late forties, American, well spoken, well dressed, holding a large case, stands at the threshold.

Offstage, we hear the voice again.

Booming male voice (off)     In there, little fella, try not to get up to any mischief.

Charles cowers in fear of the voice but Raymond looks up evenly at its source.

Raymond    If I were four feet taller I’d take you outside and give you a damn good thrashing, young man.

Booming male voice (off)     Ha, ha, ha. Hey, Harry, we got a funny dwarf here. Take me outside, ha, ha, ha.

Raymond puts the case on the bed. Then he pulls in another large leather bag and closes the door. He stares at Bert and Charles. Charles climbs off the bed with the instruments.

Raymond    Philistines!

Charles (offering his hand)     Charles Merryweather, London, England.

He notices Raymond staring at the pipe. He starts to pack the instruments into Bert’s case.

Poor Mr Kowalski suffers from a bronchial complaint.

Raymond shakes his head and wanders around the room, still holding his case.

Raymond    And you’re his nurse, right?

Charles (heading over to him)     I see what you mean, no, I’m a Munchkin like you.

Raymond glares at Charles, goes over to a bed and throws his bag up on it.

Raymond    Four beds. Any other ‘ailments’ I should know about?

Charles (offering his hand again)     Charles Merryweather, London, England.

Raymond (shaking hands)     Benedict-Porter. Raymond.

Raymond’s grip is strong and Charles winces a little.

Charles    Pleased to meet you Mr Ben-ah, Mr Por . . . um, which do you prefer?

As they break grip he rubs his hand.

Raymond    Both, but Raymond will suffice.

Charles    Raymond? Excellent . . . Charles or Charlie, I don’t have a preference. My friends call me Charles or Charlie. I really don’t mind. Whichever you prefer, Mr . . . ah . . . Raymond.

Raymond    Charles sounds more dignified. Yes, I’ll call you Charles. Charlie sounds common. There’s far too much bastardisation of our language going on, don’t you think?

Bert (asleep, shouting)     NO!

Charles and Raymond stare at Bert. Raymond shakes his head and goes to the chest of drawers and unpacks his case. Charles stands with him.

Charles    Jolly good storyplay.

Raymond    I prefer the book.

Charles    You prefer the book?

Raymond    The storyplay has been adapted from a book. You didn’t know that?

Charles    A book, no.

Raymond    Yes.

Charles    Which book? From which book has it been . . . ah . . .

Raymond (sighing)      The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

Charles    Oh.

Raymond    Yes. Very popular.

Charles    I see, I see, they’ve simply abandoned the ‘wonderful’?

Raymond    Quite . . . Is this your first ‘acting’ role?

Charles    Yes, well, no, I mean, I had a small part in an amateur production of A Midsummer’s Night Dream in Deptford. It got cancelled after the second night and I think it was a very amateur production.

Raymond    Amateur?

Charles    I think so. Nobody was paid.

Raymond    I toured extensively with Richard III.

Charles    Really?

Raymond    Mmm, extensively.

Charles    Whom did you – did you play?

Raymond    Richard of course.

Charles    Richard, right . . . Wasn’t he a hunchback?

Raymond closes the drawer and heads off towards the bathroom.

Raymond    Not just a hunchback, not simply a hunchback.

Charles    I’m not familiar, but I recall him being a hunchback.

Raymond    Quite, he was, but he was much more besides. He was much more than a hunchback.

Charles    There’s no paper in there, Mr Benedict-Porter.

Raymond    No paper?

Charles    No, no paper, Mr Kowal—

Raymond    Why do you assume I need to evacuate my bowels? Do I look like I’m in need of a bowel movement?

Charles    No, no, I just –

Raymond    Not that I’m not regular, you understand, on the contrary. Nothing wrong with my bowel movements: like clockwork. Are you a sufferer?

Charles     Sufferer?

Raymond    Constipation . . . do you get ‘bunged up’, dear boy?

Charles    Um.

Raymond    Just say if you do, nothing to be ashamed of, just speak out if you do because I’ve a cure for constipation if you’re a sufferer. Very simple cure, just say if you’re –

Charles    No, no, no, I’m – I’m not a sufferer. I don’t – no, not constipation. I’ve a friend though, a friend who’s a
. . . I suppose you could call him a sufferer.

Raymond    I can’t help him: your friend. It’s a hands-on cure, very simple. It involves freeing up the colonic passage. Takes no time at all. Very common among small people. Yes, a common complaint I suppose you could call it, but I’m afraid I can’t help your friend though, hands on, you understand? I take it your friend’s back in England?

Charles    Yes, yes he’s still there. I think he’s still in England.

Raymond    London?

Charles    Yes . . .

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