SWEET
DREAMS, LADY DI
A
Farse in Reverse
© INDAUTOR
Cd. De México
Contact: bengavarre@gmail.com
gavarreunam@gmail.com
Synopsis
In
the darkest corners of Buckingham Palace, history isn't written in ink, but in
gin, blood, and unspeakable pacts. "Sweet Dreams, Lady Di" is
a black farse structured as a temporal puzzle that winds back from the cynicism
of 2001 to the inception of a shared ambition in the early eighties.
The
play follows the toxic and captivating relationship between the Queen
and Valmont, a shadowy operative—part polyester James Bond, part
back-alley hitman—who has spent twenty years "clearing away" the
Crown’s inconveniences. From the botched theft of a necklace in a Corgi cage to
the coldness of a Paris tunnel and the fire at Windsor, the protagonists engage
in a duel of brilliant insults and violent passions.
While
Prince Charles rambles on about the "telluric" beauty of his
mistress and Michael Jackson’s modernity, the Queen and her favourite mercenary
conspire to make history look like an "oversight of Providence".
Amidst glasses of bitter wine and the surrealism of a footman named Rufus—who
bursts into song when the world cracks—the play reveals that the true tragedy
of the monarchy isn't the scandal, but the immortality of a hatred that refuses
to die.
SCENE
I: THE DOG, THE PRINCE, AND THE POLYESTER (Year 2001)
Location:
The Queen’s private apartments. Deep, dense red light.
(RUFUS
enters escorting VALMONT, who allows himself to be led like a gentleman. RUFUS
is drenched in sweat, a lock of hair out of place. He’s breathing like a broken
pair of bellows).
RUFUS:
Your Majesty... it was Dantesque. Prince Charles was... he was in the Corgi
cage. He claimed he wanted to "connect with his primal instinct". And
this... this delinquent was there, trying to snatch the necklace from Monty.
QUEEN:
(Stunned, with haughtiness) Valmont, from Monty? Is that true, Valmont?
From Monty?
RUFUS:
Indeed. The dog had the necklace between its teeth and wouldn't let go. The
Prince was cheering the dog on, saying it was an act of "resistance
against materialism". I had to go in myself. It’s been a humiliation for
the Royal Guard.
QUEEN:
EVERYBODY OUT! Rufus, take my son to the shower and scrub that dog-smell off
him! LEAVE ME ALONE WITH VALMONT!
(RUFUS
leaves, tripping over his own feet. THE QUEEN and VALMONT are left alone).
QUEEN:
(Approaching) Look at you. Your face looks like a teenager covered in spots.
You’re ugly, Valmont. Your nose looks like a road accident on a backstreet.
VALMONT:
And you, Ma'am... your skin is like parchment that has survived three wars and
a forest fire. Every wrinkle tells a story of extreme boredom and useless
decrees.
QUEEN:
Your 007 outfit is bargain-bin polyester. You smell of fear, petrol-station
gin, and dry milk. You are an error of nature that evolution forgot to erase.
VALMONT:
And you are a relic that belongs in a museum, behind bulletproof glass. Your
hands tremble when they see me, and it isn't age or Parkinson’s; it’s because
your blue blood is boiling with the urge to sin with this "spotted
teenager".
QUEEN:
(Cornering him against the wall, her face inches from his) You’re a classless
criminal, a mobster who uses rancid wine to seduce ladies who smell of
mothballs. I hate you.
VALMONT:
And I despise you. You’re so old your memories are in black and white and have
subtitles. But... you have a way of commanding that makes me want to be your
most sinful subject.
QUEEN:
Then, thief... rob me of my breath once and for all.
VALMONT:
(Grabbing her waist with almost painful force) With pleasure, my ancient,
wrinkled Queen. You shall be mine, even if it costs me my life.
(They
kiss with violent, desperate passion. CURTAIN).
SCENE
II: THE MASK OF THE RED DEATH (September 1997)
Location:
A private study, in shadows. A TV screen shows, without sound, the image of the
Queen bowing her head before Diana’s coffin.
(The
QUEEN is seated, drinking gin straight from a cut-crystal glass. VALMONT is in
the shadows, smoking a cigarette whose smoke looks like a ghost).
QUEEN:
Did you see that? I had to bow my head. My vertebrae crunched like a rusty
gate. The whole world applauding my "gesture of humility". Humility
before a piece of wood with a dead woman inside!
VALMONT:
It was your finest performance, Ma'am. Not even the Royal Shakespeare Company
could have topped it. That slight 45-degree angle... it was pure poetry of
deception.
QUEEN:
(With loathing) People were throwing flowers at the hearse. Flowers! As if they
were feeding a beast. The Paris tunnel was a success, Valmont, but the result
is a sainthood that won’t let me sleep.
VALMONT:
You asked for her to vanish. You didn’t specify that you wanted her hated after
death. That’s marketing, and I’m an operative, not a publicist.
QUEEN:
(She stands and walks toward him) I feel she has won. She is eternal now, and I
am just an old woman who bows.
VALMONT:
(Blows smoke in her face) Don’t bow to anyone but me in the dark. The people
have their saint; you have a throne without encumbrances. Let us drink to that.
SCENE
III: THE GARDEN STRATEGY (August 1997)
Location:
A gala reception. Sounds of cutlery and violins.
Characters:
QUEEN, VALMONT, CHARLES, RUFUS.
(VALMONT
and the QUEEN are pretending to look at a painting. RUFUS approaches with a
tray of canapés, a tic in his eye, and begins to hum "Stayin' Alive"
by the Bee Gees).
QUEEN:
Rufus! What is that buzzing sound coming from your throat?
RUFUS:
Sorry, President... I mean, Your Majesty. It’s just that nerves make me...
rhythmic. Would you care for a bit of salmon, Lord Byron?
VALMONT:
(Ignoring Rufus) The Paris contract is closed. The Alma tunnel has the perfect
lighting: none at all. It will be a regrettable accident... Provoked, though no
one will ever know... too much alcohol, too much speed, too many drugs...
QUEEN:
I want no mistakes. Nothing must stain the Crown—nothing and no one.
(Enter
PRINCE CHARLES, hands clasped behind his back, wearing an expression of
philosophical melancholy).
CHARLES:
Mother... Gentleman. What a stimulating evening. I was just in the garden,
speaking to the ferns about their relationship with 18th-century architecture.
QUEEN:
(Instant shift in tone, polite yet incisive) How stimulating. Wit, as ever, so
far removed from boredom.
VALMONT:
(With a mocking bow) Your Highness. We were discussing the
"renovation" of tourist routes in Paris. A one-way trip, so to speak.
CHARLES:
Ah, Paris! The city of love. You know... I’ve been thinking a great deal about
beauty. My dear Camilla, for instance... she possesses a loveliness that
transcends the physical. She is like a thoroughbred mare in a meadow at dawn.
A... telluric beauty, don’t you think?
(A
three-second silence. The QUEEN and VALMONT exchange a look. Suddenly, both
burst into a dry, almost hysterical laugh, trying to disguise it as coughing
behind their glasses).
QUEEN:
(Wiping a tear of laughter) Yes, Charles... "Telluric". Like an
earthquake in a stable. It’s a... precise description.
VALMONT:
(Struggling to contain his laughter) Truly, Your Highness, your taste in
aesthetics is... singular. I personally admire her most elegant hats.
CHARLES:
(Baffled, phlegmatic) Really? I am so glad to hear of your good taste. The
world is so vulgar at times. Well, I shall go and see if the Duke is still
awake or if he’s become petrified by the fireplace again.
QUEEN:
(With a lethal smile) May Providence go with you, son. Valmont and I shall
continue discussing trivial matters... Life, death, you know the sort of thing.
(CHARLES
looks at them and, before leaving, gives the falsest smile in his repertoire).
SCENE
IV: THE ANNUS HORRIBILIS (November 1992)
Location:
A room in Windsor. Ash on the carpets, a persistent smell of burning.
(CHARLES
and VALMONT are playing roulette. RUFUS, visibly disturbed, serves drinks.
Suddenly, RUFUS bellows at the top of his lungs: "I WANT TO BREAK
FREEEEEE!").
QUEEN:
(Screaming) SHUT UP, RUFUS! OR I’LL SEND YOU TO THE LONDON ZOO AS LION FEED!
RUFUS:
Sorry, Ma'am... it’s just that the castle fire has left me... dumbfounded. Here
is your gin with... mango juice.
QUEEN:
Get away and bring me a bottle of whisky. (To Charles) Continue with your
story, before I lose my mind.
CHARLES:
It’s just that Michael Jackson is her new best friend. It’s fascinating,
Mother. Diana says she identifies with him because they both live in cages. She
says he’s her soulmate. A man who is black, yet white. He’s like a cartoon
character that has decided to ignore biology. They spend hours talking about
their noses and how the world doesn't understand them.
(The
QUEEN lets out a vulgar laugh. RUFUS arrives with a bottle of milk).
QUEEN:
(Boisterous laughter) A black man who is white! It’s the perfect metaphor for
this country! We want to be one thing but look like another. Rufus, I asked for
whisky and you’ve brought me goat’s milk.
(RUFUS
leaves to fix the error. CHARLES prepares to leave, making an urgent gesture
toward the bathroom).
CHARLES:
I’ll be back with you in a few minutes, shall I?
VALMONT:
(To the Queen) Your son, the Prince, is an inexhaustible source of comedy,
Ma'am.
QUEEN:
Don’t cross the line, Valmont. Only I may mock my royal and august lineage!
VALMONT:
It’s just that, Ma'am, your family is the best circus in London, august lineage
and all.
(The
QUEEN throws a glass of white wine in his face).
VALMONT:
(Tasting it) Mmm. '92 vintage. Bitter. Like you.
RUFUS:
(Interrupting to lower the tension) Mrs Thatcher, Mrs Thatcher... I mean, Your
Majesty, Your Highness... Highness. The King, your husband, won't be coming...
He has a bout of colic.
QUEEN:
(Boisterous laughter) Colic! I don’t know why that lie is so funny—he should
have said he had a migraine... Rufus, bring alcohol: whisky, gin, tequila,
anything!
VALMONT:
(To the Queen) A circus. Your royal and august family is a circus of clowns and
tightrope walkers.
SCENE
V: THE SOHO PACT (Spring 1981)
Location:
"The Golden Mouse" (El Ratón Dorado) basement club. Smoke, red neon
lights, a baccarat table.
(The
QUEEN enters in a trench coat, hidden behind a silk scarf. RUFUS guards the
door, softly whistling the National Anthem with the tone of a suspense
thriller).
QUEEN:
I have heard that you are capable of making problems dissolve into acid or
oblivion.
VALMONT:
(Counting a wad of notes) Depends on who the problem is. If it’s a husband,
it’s cheap. If it’s an heir, well... the price goes up.
QUEEN:
(Removes her scarf, revealing her regal face under the red light) My son is
marrying a doe-eyed virgin. The world believes it’s a fairy tale; I know it’s a
light that will steal my shine. I need a shadow to follow her. A shadow that
knows when to push.
VALMONT:
(Stands slowly, fascinated) Look at me. I have the skills, even if I don’t have
the title... You could make me a Duke.
QUEEN:
(Holding his gaze) Do not aim so high, sir... But you could be my watchdog.
VALMONT:
I like that... You don't want to smell of mud, but you'd love to be covered in
filth. I like that. You have... interesting skin. It looks like a map of an
empire that has lost all its colonies but kept all its pride. It makes me want to invade you.
QUEEN:
You’re a pig, Valmont. That’s why you’re ideal for the job.
VALMONT:
And you are the owner of the pigsty, my Queen. We shall be covered in filth,
but I assure you, we shall come out clean and bathed as if emerging from the
sea.
QUEEN:
(After an electric silence) Make it look like an oversight of Providence. The
Crown must never—listen well—never be involved.
VALMONT:
(Bowing) As you wish... my august and royal Empress.
(RUFUS
begins to sing "God Save the Queen" in a deranged, operatic tone as
the red light intensifies into total blackness).
EPILOGUE:
"The Last Gin at the End of the World"
Location:
A small room in Balmoral.
QUEEN:
(Voice like shattered glass) Look at that screen, Valmont. My son finally wears
the weight of the stone upon his head. He looks... ridiculous. Like a penguin
that has inherited an iceberg.
VALMONT:
He looks like what he always was: an accidental survivor. Thirty years trying
to sabotage his ascent, and here we are... watching him wave to the crowds with
those sausage fingers of his.
QUEEN:
We failed, Valmont. The blonde is a myth, and Camilla... she is so hated that I
almost feel pity for her... (She looks at him with longing). Tell me,
Valmont... do you still hate me?
VALMONT:
With an intensity that keeps my organs functioning, Ma'am. If I ever stopped
despising your arrogance and your malice, my heart would simply stop for lack
of purpose.
QUEEN:
(Sighs with pleasure) Thank you. That’s the sweetest thing I’ve been told in
decades.
RUFUS:
(Suddenly stands and sings in a supernatural falsetto) Goodbye English
Rose... you were a mess, and we know it...
QUEEN:
Rufus, if you don't shut up, I swear I'll bury you alive in the rose garden,
right next to the Corgis.
RUFUS:
Understood, Your Eminence. Shall I bring the special vintage? The '92 reserve?
QUEEN:
Bring it. And three glasses. You shall die of cirrhosis right along with us.
VALMONT:
(Looking at the camera) We shall be part of the furniture.
QUEEN:
(Gripping Valmont’s hand tightly) Close the curtains, Rufus. I want no light...
She has taken it all. She kept all the fame, and I am left with the infamous
accusations.
VALMONT:
Mere slanders, Ma'am. So much malice in this world.
QUEEN:
Truly, dear Valmont. A truth as solid as a rock.
(RUFUS
closes the heavy velvet curtains. The room is left in total darkness, save for
the red glow of a cigarette Valmont lights).
VALMONT:
(In the dark) Until oblivion catches us, my Lady.
QUEEN:
(In the dark) Until hell sends us the bill.
(The
sound of three glasses clinking is heard in the dark).
RUFUS
(humming): I want to be free!
QUEEN
and VALMONT: SHUT UP, RUFUS!
TOTAL DARKNESS
THE END
