Cover

“An elegant study of memory as both escape and prison. Time will tell if artificial intelligence ever becomes a reality, but the human parts of Harrison’s smart, lovely play are built to last.”

— DAVID COTE, TIME OUT NEW YORK

“An excellent new play.”

— CHRIS JONES, CHICAGO TRIBUNE

“A smart new play. Jordan Harrison explores the fraught subject of memory from a variety of fascinating angles, including senior dementia, our ever-increasing dependence on technology, and the perils of repression . . . it also grapples with the hidden legacy of suicide in a family, and is primarily concerned with something eternal: the way our humanity is shaped and warped by the mysterious ebbs and flows of memory. It’s the kind of experience that keeps unfolding in the mind long after the play is over.”

— CHARLES MCNULTY, LOS ANGELES TIMES

“A tender, searching new comedy . . . a thought-provoking play about memory, its corruption, and our insistence that technology help us outwit death.”

— LAURA COLLINS-HUGHES, NEW YORK TIMES

“Jordan Harrison is an original thinker who’s fixated on sci-fi matters like revisiting the past (Maple and Vine) and creating artificial intelligence (Marjorie Prime). He envisions a day in the near future when we’ll be able to program robots to serve as humanoid companions for the old, the infirm, and the lonely. This play is also a sensitive study of family dynamics, which makes it all the more engaging.”

— MARILYN STASIO, VARIETY

“Harrison, whose work frequently twists everyday situations into something fascinating and new, offers a sci-fi tale perfectly suited for today’s audiences, as technology seems to be evolving faster than humans can adapt. There are twists in each of the eight scenes. This play, a quiet exploration into memory and humanity, answers few questions. Instead, it poses some big ones, such as how much does someone have to forget before they are no longer the same person?”

— JEFF FAVRE, DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES

“Jordan Harrison’s writing proves that a skilled playwright can lead you on a journey almost anywhere.”

— DOMINICK DANZA, MORE THAN THE PLAY

“. . . A gut-punch of a play. What’s remarkable about this savvy piece is its insight into the vagaries of memory and the navigation of grief.”

— KRIS VIRE, TIME OUT CHICAGO

“Captivating . . . Harrison asks the perennial question: As time robs us of our faculties, when do we cease to be ourselves?”

— JACOB GALLAHER-ROSS, VILLAGE VOICE

“Unnerving and well made, Marjorie Prime is at once futuristic and timeless. Harrison deftly weaves in the futuristic angle, without letting it get all Twilight Zone-y.”

— JAYNE BLANCHARD, DC THEATRE SCENE

“Marjorie Prime is an innovative and intelligent think piece. The themes that Harrison explores are profound and none of them unpack neatly . . . Exceptional.”

— MARIANA HOWARD, NEW YORK THEATRICAL GUIDE

Title Page

Production History

PRODUCTION HISTORY

Marjorie Prime was commissioned by Playwrights Horizons (Tim Sanford, Artistic Director; Leslie Marcus, Managing Director; Carol Fishman, General Manager) in association with the Theater Masters Visionary Playwright Award, and with additional funds provided by the Harold and Mimi Steinberg Commissioning Program, and the Kathryn and Gilbert Miller Commissioning Program. It was developed with the support of the Clubbed Thumb Writers’ Group, the Pacific Playwrights Festival at South Coast Repertory, and the Roe Green Award at Cleveland Play House. It was inspired by attendance at The Aspen Institute Ideas Festival.

Marjorie Prime had its world premiere at Mark Taper Forum/Center Theatre Group (Michael Ritchie, Artistic Director; Edward L. Rada, Managing Director; Douglas C. Baker, Producing Director) in Los Angeles on September 21, 2014. The production was directed by Les Waters. The scenic was design by Mimi Lien, the costume design was by Ilona Somogyi, the lighting design was by Lap Chi Chu, and the sound design was by Adam Phalen; the production stage manager was David S. Franklin, the dramaturg was Joy Meads, and the assistant director was Beth Lopes. The cast was as follows:

Marjorie Prime had its New York premiere at Playwrights Horizons on November 20, 2015. It was directed by Anne Kauffman. The scenic design was by Laura Jellinek, the costume design was by Jessica Pabst, the lighting design was by Ben Stanton, and the sound design was by Daniel Kluger; the production stage manager was Vanessa Coakley, and the directing resident was Lauren Z. Adleman. The cast was as follows:

Characters

CHARACTERS

NOTE

A slash “ / ” indicates overlapping dialogue. Periods are sometimes omitted in order to suggest a rolling momentum in the dialogue.

Part One

PART ONE

1

Tess and Jon’s living room. On one side of the room, we can see an entryway beyond the open kitchen. On the other side, there is a hallway leading off to the unseen bedrooms.

Marjorie, eighty-five, sits in a recliner. (The lumpy chair doesn’t go with the rest of the decor—clearly it’s been added for her comfort.) Marjorie’s visitor, Walter, looks like a young career man from 1998. He seems to be in his early thirties—bright-eyed and handsome in an unspectacular way.

MARJORIE: I feel like I have to perform around you.

WALTER: Well you don’t.

MARJORIE: I know.

WALTER: It’s just me, it’s just Walter.

MARJORIE: Maybe it isn’t bad, if I feel that way. (Beat) I used to entertain a lot.

WALTER: I remember.

MARJORIE: You do?

(He sees the sink.)

WALTER: Marjorie. Where are the dishes?

MARJORIE: The girl did them.

WALTER: She doesn’t come ’til two.

MARJORIE: I did them.

WALTER: You didn’t. Your arthritis.

MARJORIE: I had a good day. (She holds her hand up, opening and closing it with apparent ease) Look.

WALTER: Marjorie, we both know what no dishes means.

MARJORIE: It means I haven’t been eating.

WALTER: Even a spoonful of peanut butter.

MARJORIE: I’m not hungry. It’s their fault. Feeding me those pills.

WALTER: The pills are their fault?

MARJORIE: Yes.

WALTER: Or your doctor.

(Marjorie absently rubs the hand that she opened and closed.)

MARJORIE (Pouty): Maybe if she got Jif.

WALTER: Maybe if / she?—

MARJORIE: She always gets the kind you have to stir or there’s an oil slick on top. And she calls that healthy.

WALTER (Coaxing): Even a spoonful.

MARJORIE: You sound like them.

WALTER: I sound like whoever I talk to.

(The feeling of an uncomfortable truth.)

MARJORIE: Let’s talk about something else.

WALTER: I could tell you a story. You liked that the last time.

MARJORIE: I’ll have to take your word for it.

WALTER: I could tell you about the time we went to the movies.

MARJORIE: We went to a lot of movies.

WALTER (Does she remember the significance?): But one time we saw My Best Friend’s Wedding.

MARJORIE (She doesn’t remember): My Best Friend’s Wedding . . .

WALTER: There’s a woman—Julia Roberts. For a while it was always Julia Roberts. And she has an agreement with her best friend, her male best friend, that if they’re not married by a certain age, then they’ll marry each other. And she’s about to remind him of the agreement but it turns out he’s already fallen in love with this nice blond—Cameron Diaz. And so Julia Roberts spends the whole movie trying to ruin things between her friend and Cameron Diaz, which is not very sympathetic behavior for America’s Sweetheart. But it’s all okay in the end, and she has a gay best friend who delivers one-liners.

MARJORIE: Did I like it?

WALTER: You said you wanted a gay best friend afterwards.

MARJORIE: Did I get one?

WALTER (Faintly generic): I’m afraid I don’t have that information.

(Pause. She scrutinizes him.)

MARJORIE: Why did you pick that story? Why did you pick My Best Friend’s Wedding?

WALTER: It’s the night I proposed to you.

MARJORIE: Oh Marjorie, the things you forget.

You were trying to tell me and I wouldn’t let you.

WALTER: That’s all right.

(Short pause.)

MARJORIE: Kind of unfortunate, isn’t it.

WALTER: What.

MARJORIE: Julia Roberts, forever etched upon our lives. (Beat) What if we saw Casablanca instead? Let’s say we saw Casablanca in an old theater with velvet seats, and then, on the way home, you proposed. Then, by the next time we talk, it will be true.

WALTER: You mean make it up?

MARJORIE (Narrowing her eyes): You’re very serious. You’re like them. Especially Tess.

WALTER (As if getting his facts straight): Our daughter.

MARJORIE: Our daughter Tess and her over-solicitous husband. No that’s not fair, I like him. I didn’t but now I do.

WALTER: Do you like me?

MARJORIE (Playful): Don’t be an idiot.

WALTER: Don’t call me an idiot.

MARJORIE: Idiot.

WALTER: Why do you like me if I’m an idiot?

MARJORIE (A little saucy): There are some things you know.

WALTER: What kinds of things?

(She shakes her head, smiling to herself.)

What.

MARJORIE: I’ll get in trouble.

WALTER: In trouble?

MARJORIE: For talking to you that way. In trouble with Tess. Everything gets me in trouble with her—she’s the mother now.

WALTER (Faintly generic): Tell me more about your mother.

MARJORIE: You don’t always understand, do you.

(He smiles a little, sympathetic.)

Tell me about the time we got Toni.

WALTER: I just told you yesterday.

MARJORIE: I like that story.

(He gathers his wits. Maybe he stands.)

WALTER: There was once a couple, a very fine young couple.

(Speaking of himself) He had a good strong jaw.

MARJORIE: He was a little too pleased with himself.

WALTER: He had a good strong jaw and was a little too pleased with himself. And she—she was the most beautiful woman in town. It wasn’t a very big town, but she was the queen of it.

MARJORIE: It sounds like a fairy tale when you tell it.

WALTER: It is a fairy tale.

(Beat. The feeling, again, of an uncomfortable truth.)

MARJORIE: That’s not very nice.

WALTER: I didn’t mean / it didn’t really happen,

MARJORIE: I thought you were supposed to / provide comfort—

WALTER (Continuous): I just mean that’s the way it happened. Like a fairy tale.

MARJORIE (Faintly grumpy): It was.

WALTER: Now this young couple was a bit lonely because they didn’t have any children yet. So one day they decided that it was time to get a dog. So they rode the bus down to the city pound and there was a little black dog there, asleep, its tummy going up and down, like a little sleeping shadow. And they named this dog Toni. (Beat) / Toni with an “i.”

MARJORIE (Overlapping): Toni with an “i.”

WALTER: Which was short for Antoinette. She had a French name because she was a French poodle. But not the fussy kind that look like hedges. No, this was a poodle for fetching sticks and running on the beach. So they took her home with them on the bus—she behaved so well—and they loved her, and she loved them back for a long time. (Still soothing, unemotional) And then, like everything else, she died.

(Marjorie is crying softly.)

Do you want me to keep going?

MARJORIE: There’s more? After “she died”?

WALTER: In this case, yes. Because soon after, this couple had a child

MARJORIE: Tess

WALTER: Which is a variation of Tessa, which is Greek for “the gatherer.”

MARJORIE: Don’t show off.

WALTER: And when Tess was three years old, / they went down to the pound, the same pound.

MARJORIE: Oh yes

WALTER (Continuous): By now they had an old Subaru, so they didn’t have to take the bus. And of course they let little Tess pick out the new dog. There were more dogs there this time, many more. A cocker spaniel, and a noble gray pointer, and a very attractive mutt. And the amazing thing was, of all the dogs there, Tess picked the poodle, the little black poodle like a sleeping shadow. That was the one she liked the best.

MARJORIE: And so we named it Toni.

WALTER: Toni Two. But soon it got shortened to just Toni. (Beat) And of course it wasn’t Toni exactly. But the longer they had her, the less it mattered which Toni had run along the beach, or which Toni had dug up all the bulbs in the garden. The more time passed, the more she became the same dog in their memories.

(Short pause.)

MARJORIE: Who told you all that?

WALTER: You did.

MARJORIE: I talked that much?

WALTER: Well, you and Jon. (Beat) You have your good days, when you remember.

(Short pause.)

MARJORIE (Quietly): It was the second Toni.

WALTER: What’s that?

MARJORIE: It was the second Toni who loved the beach. It’s a shame we didn’t have her longer. Even if she always had sand in her hair. Fur? No—“hair” like a human seems right.

She was a good dog.

WALTER (Generic): I’ll remember that fact about Toni.

(Beat. Marjorie leans forward and examines Walter’s face very closely.)

MARJORIE: Something is a little off with the nose.

WALTER: I’m sorry.

MARJORIE: Or maybe my memory is wrong, and you’re right.

(Beat) You’re a good Walter, though. Either way.

WALTER: Thank you.

MARJORIE: Stay with me a while?

WALTER (Playful): I don’t want to get you in trouble.

(She smiles a little.)

MARJORIE: You learn. I like that.

WALTER: I told you.

What else do you want to talk about?

MARJORIE: We don’t have to talk. We can just sit. (Beat) Sometimes I get so tired.

WALTER: I’ll be right here, Marjorie. Whenever you need me. I have all the time in the world.

Scene 2

2

Same day, early evening. Tess, Marjorie’s fifty-something daughter, is putting groceries in the fridge.

Walter might remain at the perimeter of the stage during this scene, dimly lit, sitting quietly.

TESS: I still don’t like it.

(She puts something away.)

I don’t care what Senior Serenity says.

(Her husband, Jon, appears in the hallway leading from the bedroom.)

JON: Are you talking to me?

TESS: I’m not sure. Is that a bad sign?

JON (Entering): What?

TESS: Nothing.

Is she sleeping?

(He nods.)

I was just saying I don’t like it.

JON (Beat): You’ll have to narrow it down.

TESS: The Prime. We were just talking in the car?

JON: Senior Serenity says companionship is the most important / thing,

TESS (Overlapping): I know what Senior Serenity / says

JON (Overlapping, continuous): that it’s much better than television.

TESS: Better than television, hallelujah. They just want them pacified, Jon, / they don’t care—

JON: What’s wrong with pacified. She’s eighty-five, honey, she wakes up and she doesn’t know where she is. I’d like to be pacified right now, but I have to wait thirty more years for the / privilege.

TESS (Muttering as she works): I’ll pacify you.

JON: What?

TESS: Nothing.

(Beat.)

JON: Look.

(He lifts a peanut-buttery spoon from the sink.)

Peanut butter.

TESS: Small miracles. Maybe she’s finally succumbing to my nagging campaign.

JON: Maybe the Prime told her to.

(She makes an audible shiver of distaste.)

It’s like a parrot that way. “Even a spoonful.”

TESS: Do you know that parrots live forever?

Penny’s father had a parrot, it was like his reason for existing, and he gave it to her when he died. And now, twenty years later, it still says things in his voice.

JON: Like what?

TESS: Mostly just (In a parrot voice) “Hey there partner,” but she can tell it’s her dad.

JON: That’s— How did you put it?

(She makes the shivering-distaste sound. He tries to do it.)

TESS: No, (She does it again, better than him)

JON: Now without the motion.

(She makes the shiver sound motionlessly, with some effort.)

Nice.

TESS: So much talent.

JON: I think it’s encouraging that she’s keeping up with technology.

TESS (Non sequitur): ?

JON: My mother would never—She still had an iPod.

(It’s as though he’s saying “antique Victrola.”)

So to still be, you know, engaged.

TESS: Engaged or pacified?

JON: Does it bother you that she’s talking to a computer? Or that it’s a computer pretending to be your dad.

TESS: It bothers me that you’re helping it pretend to be my dad—or some weird fountain of youth version / of him—

JON: That’s how she / remembers him—

TESS: Both of you are helping it.

JON: Not “helping”—that’s just how it works. The more you talk, the more it absorbs.

TESS: Until we become unnecessary. Isn’t that how it goes?

JON: In science fiction.

TESS: Science fiction is here, Jonathan. Every day is science fiction. We buy these things that already know our moods and what we want for lunch even though we don’t know ourselves. And we listen to them, we do what we’re told. Or in this case we tell them our deepest secrets, even though we have no earthly idea how they work. We treat them like our loved ones.

(Beat.)

JON: Are you jealous?

TESS: What? No. Of the Prime?

JON: You are!

TESS: Am I supposed to not notice she’s being nicer to that thing than to me?

JON: It’s your father she’s being nice to.

TESS: It is not my father.

(Short pause.)

JON: It’s true, she could be a little more openly appreciative / sometimes, but you—

TESS: That’s not what / I’m saying—

JON (Continuous): . . . know you can’t sit around waiting for a gratitude dance.

TESS: I don’t need a dance.

JON: She took care of you, now it’s your turn to take care of her.

TESS: Oh, she “took care of me”

JON: Of course

TESS: You weren’t there.

(Pause.)

JON: Think how hard, to move out of the house you were in for what, forty / years—

TESS: Fifty years.

JON: And give up your autonomy—

TESS: I know, I know. (Lightly, almost wistfully) Jon good, Tess bad.

(Short pause.)

JON: Maybe if you told it a few things. It could be a way to connect with her, indirectly.

TESS: What would I tell it?

JON: Things your father would know. (Tess starts to shake her head) Things you want her to remember. Then when she talks to it, she’ll remember she had an interesting life, she had all these suitors lining up for her.

TESS: She only needed one.

JON: The cool part is it can look stuff up. It can talk to other Primes, for practice. (Tess shivers silently; he doesn’t notice) It’s like a child learning to talk, only it does it so quickly—that’s how we think we’re talking to a human, because it listens so well. It even studies our imperfections, to seem more real: It can use non sequiturs. It can, you know . . . misplace modifiers . . .

TESS (As if adding to his list): It can run out of steam when it’s listing things . . .

JON: It’s company. It’s no different from what we do for her, only it can be there all the time.

TESS: Really. It’s no different from us.

JON: I can already see the change in her. Just to have eight or nine stories to hold on to. New things are already coming to the surface.

TESS: New things.

(Pause.)

JON: The other day she said—out of nowhere she said: “Why did they have to tease him so much?”

(Pause.)

TESS: You think it was Damian?

(Jon shrugs: “Who else?”)

TESS: What did you say?

JON: Nothing. She was drifting in and out.

TESS: I thought she’d forgotten. I guess I sort of hoped.

JON: But we have to remind her, right?

TESS: Do we?

(Short pause.)

To have a little peace. That was her life for so many years.

Partly it was the way it happened.

JON (?): She blamed herself.

TESS: She blamed everyone. Anyone who made him feel—not normal.

(Beat.)

JON: Was he normal?

TESS: He was different—I knew that, and I was ten.

(Beat.)

I think it was always with her. We thought she gave his stuff away but Dad found it all in a closet, behind the Christmas ornaments. Out of sight but still with her. So maybe he’ll still be with her, even when she doesn’t know our names anymore.

I don’t know how memory works. I think of it like sedimentary layers in the brain, but I’m sure that’s wrong. We should get a book.

JON: I like sedimentary layers. It means it’s all still there.

(Marjorie appears at the end of the hallway. She comes part of the way down and listens to them, unnoticed.)

TESS: It doesn’t always seem that way.

JON: No.

(Short pause.)

I think we should remind her, Tess.

TESS: And I think we should not, Jon, and she’s my mom—

JON: You’d rather just let everything / slip away?

TESS: She’s my mom, / Jon—

JON: How much does she have to forget before she’s not your mom anymore?

(Pause.)

I’m sorry. / That was—

TESS (Fighting back tears): No, it’s—

JON: I’m sorry—

TESS: You’re right. (He takes her in his arms) She’s just gotten so old. She’s just so old.

JON: We’re old. She’s . . .

(Marjorie enters.)

MARJORIE: She’s beyond.

TESS: Mom, you’re up. You want tea?

MARJORIE: Yes please.

TESS: I stocked you up with some Marie Callender’s. I have a feeling it won’t compare to your lobster pot pie.

(She fills the kettle. Brightly:)

I saw you ate some peanut butter.

MARJORIE: I thought you’d like that.

TESS: I’m very predictable, yes.

JON: Were you sleeping a while?

MARJORIE: I don’t know. I was watching the girl on TV, the strident one, and then just—out.

That’s how it should happen when it happens.

TESS: Mom.

MARJORIE: “Don’t be morbid,” I know. Let’s all pretend we live forever.

JON (Indicating her cheek): You’ve got your color back, Margie.

MARJORIE: Thank you, Jon. It’s always nice to be lied to.

(She gives him a kiss on the cheek.)

TESS: You two get along so well now.

MARJORIE: I like him more now that he cut off his beard.

TESS: That was thirty years ago.

MARJORIE: It wasn’t.

JON (Apologetic): It was.

MARJORIE: And you stopped worrying about impressing me.

That helped.

JON: You gave up on being impressed.

MARJORIE (Affable): Yes, that’s true.

I think I want to sit.

(Jon goes to help her, automatically. He lowers her into the recliner.)

Careful now.

JON: Have I ever dropped you?

MARJORIE: There’s a first time for everything.

(Sitting now) Thank you.

TESS (To Jon): Will you check if there’s enough Restivan?

(Jon starts toward the hall to the bathroom.)

JON: There was plenty on Monday.

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

Enjoyed this preview? ❤️ Do not stop here!

Read the complete book free online → 🔗

Continue reading now on BooksBarbecue and discover every page!

Love reading? Bookmark BooksBarbecue.com for more amazing books!

Happy Reading!