A BREAK IN THE SKIN
“Ronald Ribman, in his new play “A Break in the Skin,” turns to contemporary America for a technological comic nightmare. The playwright continues to be unpredictable, this time not only in choice of subject, but within the play from scene to scene…Rebounding from one bizarre situation to another, the play has an undeniable theatricality and, often, a fanciful humor. Beneath the science fiction trappings there is a personal story of one man’s anguish…It is the play to see this month at Yale.” — Mel Gussow, The New York Times
“Ronald Ribman has written a bitterly funny, episodic play of a man’s entrapment in a futuristic world of computer competence—a suffocating, strangling, killing competence—a tale of a man pitted against machines and men’s minds given over to machines, a solitary man struggling to maintain his human identity, searching for a human order in the meticulous and ruthless and meaningless order of a ‘pure’ technology. A man enmeshed in science and bureaucracy, trying to make sense of things, trying to put things in order, human order, trying to break out of his role as a digit and de-program himself—failing and straining his soul through the tidy holes of an IBM card.” — John Roberts, The New Haven Register
Scene: The basement office of The Cruise Director, Mr. Humm, is from another era: dusty, dirty, and disordered. Stacks of folders, brochures and magazines of questionable taste are strewn about or fallen over. Mr. Humm is a balding, bespectacled man with an observable paunch. His vest is missing buttons and has an ink stain over the heart. His shirt is wrinkled, frayed, and fastened at the neck by a food stained tie. The Cruise Director is an habitual cigarette smoker who ignores the ashtray, ashes falling where they may…
Sample Excerpt:
HUMM
Sometimes the filth in here is intolerable. I don’t know where it comes from. It seems to fall through the ceiling, but I can’t find the crack. I’ll get your application. (Rummaging through his desk drawers)
PAUL
I didn’t fill out an application, Mr. Humm. I’ve explained that to you a number of times now.
HUMM
My feeling is that if I do a good job handling these cruise arrangements it may go a long way toward lifting me back to my old position on the ladder. (Pulling a brassiere out of the drawer) Degenerate! Filthy degenerate! Can you imagine the sort of man who occupied this office before they sent me here? Filth! Everywhere I reach for something…(Pulling out some more woman’s undergarments and a pornographic magazine) Filth! Look at the pictures in this magazine. (Mr. Humm riffles through the pages of the magazine until an application form falls out) I believe this is your application.
PAUL
I didn’t fill out this application.
HUMM
It has your signature on it.
PAUL
I didn’t sign that.
HUMM
Then perhaps someone has forged your signature to it? So we will rip it up…(Ripping it up) and begin with a new one.
PAUL
There isn’t any point in beginning a new one. I’ve told you half a dozen times I’m not going on that cruise. I’m buying a houseboat.
HUMM
You’re buying a houseboat while everybody in your department has chosen to take a cruise?
PAUL
That’s right.
HUMM
That’s right, huh? Then perhaps it will surprise you to know, Mr. Holliman, that unless I get a hundred percent turnout on this cruise I’m through. Fired! They’re going to push me out of this office! I got a wife and three daughters! (The phone begins to ring) Excuse me. (Humm’s voice suddenly changes into an imitation of the soft, pleasant female voice of his secretary) Mr. Humm’s office, Miss Springer speaking. Mr. Humm is in an executive conference now, but I’ll see if he can take the call. Hold on, please. (Mr. Humm and Paul exchange long, awkward, embarrassing smiles, while the faux secretary presumably goes to check out the situation in the faux conference) This is Mr. Humm speaking. Who is this, please? Miss Toffy? I told you not to call me at my office! I told you I’m not interested in utilizing your services. How dare you! (Nevertheless listening with avid interest for some very long moments while Miss Toffy provides her phone services) How dare you say those things to me, you filthy-mouthed whore! (Slamming down the phone) They keep calling me. A constant barrage of phone calls. They start out innocent enough and then they become more and more obscene, more graphic. They’re very good at it. Very good. They flood the office with pornography knowing that you’ll have to look at it just to see what has to be thrown out. And then they make their calls. Obscene, dirty little calls one after the other, wearing you down. (Opening one of the magazines) There she is. Page 19. Miss Toffy. That’s not her real name, of course. (Pulling out an application that suddenly presents itself from between the pages) If you’ll just sign here, I’ll fill out the rest of the application.
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