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Overview
Self-consciously staging itself in the psychotherapy sessions of a disturbed young man, Peter Shaffer's Equus is a shocking exploration of the limits of faith, of the intersecting worlds of the sacred and profane, and of the paltry value of a 'mundane' life, published in Penguin Modern Classics. When a deranged boy, Alan Strang, blinds six horses with a metal spike he is sentenced to psychiatric treatment. Dr Dysart is the man given the task of uncovering what happened the night Strang committed his crime, but in doing so will open up his own wounds. Dysart struggles in secret to define sanity, to justify his marriage, to account for his career, and finds himself questioning the 'normality' of his way of life. Ultimately, he must ask himself: is it patient or psychiatrist whose life is being laid bare? The most shocking play of its day, Equus uses an act of violence to explore faith, insanity and how the materialism of modern life can destroy humanity's capacity for pain and passion. Peter Shaffer (b. 1926), born in Liverpool, is an English playwright. Among his plays are The Salt Land (1954), Equus (1973) which won Shaffer the 1975 Tony Award for Best Play, as well as the New York Drama Critics Circle Award and Amadeus (1979) which won the Evening Standard Drama Award and the Theatre Critics Award for the London production, as well as being adapted into a 1984 film starring F. Murray Abraham and Simon Callow. If you enjoyed Equus, you might like Tennessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire, also available in Penguin Modern Classics. 'Sensationally good' Guardian 'A very important play' The New York Times
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780141188904 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin UK |
| Publication date: | 01/30/2007 |
| Pages: | 168 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.10(w) x 0.78(h) x 0.30(d) |
About the Author
Peter Shaffer was born in Liverpool in 1926. Among his plays, The Salt Land (1954), Equus (1973) which won Shaffer the 1975 Tony Award for Best Play as well as the New York Drama Critics Circle Award, Amadeus (1979) which won the Evening Standard Drama Award and the Theatre Critics Award for the London production.
Read an Excerpt
ACT ONE
Darkness.
Silence.
Dim light up on the square. In a spotlight stands Alan Strang, a lean boy of seventeen, in sweater and jeans. In front of him, the horse nugget. Alan's pose represents a contour of great tenderness: his head is pressed against the shoulder of the horse, his hands stretching up to fondle its head.
The horse in turn nuzzles his neck.
The flame of a cigarette lighter jumps in the dark. Lights come up slowly on the circle. On the left bench, downstage, Martin Dysart, smoking. A man in his mid-forties.
Dysart: With one particular horse, called Nugget, he embraces. The animal digs its sweaty brow into his cheek, and they stand in the dark for an hour -- like a necking couple. And of all nonsensical things -- I keep thinking about the horse! Not the boy: the horse, and what it may be trying to do. I keep seeing that huge head kissing him with its chained mouth. Nudging through the metal some desire absolutely irrelevant to filling its belly or propagating its own kind. What desire could that be? Not to stay a horse any longer? Not to remain reined up for ever in those particular genetic strings? Is it possible, at certain moments we cannot imagine, a horse can add its sufferings together -- the non-stop jerks and jabs that are its daily life -- and turn them into grief? What use is grief to a horse?
[Alan leads Nugget out of the square and they disappear together up the tunnel, the horse's hooves scraping delicately on the wood.
Dysart rises, and addresses both the large audience in the theatre and the smaller one on stage.]
You see, I'm lost. What use, I should be asking, are questions like these to an overworked psychiatrist in a provincial hospital? They're worse than useless; they are, in fact, subversive.
[He enters the square. The light grows brighter.]
The thing is, I'm desperate. You see, I'm wearing that horse's head myself. That's the feeling. All reined up in old language and old assumptions, straining to jump clean-hoofed on to a whole new track of being I only suspect is there. I can't see it, because my educated, average head is being held at the wrong angle. I can't jump because the bit forbids it, and my own basic force -- my horsepower, if you like -- is too little. The only thing I know for sure is this: a horse's head is finally unknowable to me. Yet I handle children's heads -- which I must presume to be more complicated, at least in the area of my chief concern...In a way, it has nothing to do with this boy. The doubts have been there for years, piling up steadily in this dreary place. It's only the extremity of this case that's made them active. I know that. The extremity is the point! All the same, whatever the reason, they are now, these doubts, not just vaguely worrying -- but intolerable...I'm sorry. I'm not making much sense. Let me start properly; in order. It began one Monday last month, with Hesther's visit.
Copyright © 1973, 1974 by Peter Shaffer Copyright renewed © 2001, 2002 by Peter Shaffer