Star Turns
Star Turns
One of the most widely appealing shows of the Warehouse’s first decade, moments of pure comic joy
The Croydon Advertiser
Based on the Elizabethan classic by John Lyly, brother to the Astronomer Royal. Three women in the suburbs take advantage of their menfolk being away on a footballing weekend to indulge in some girlie speculation about astrology. Who, according to the stars, would make the perfect man? Not Doug, surely? First produced at the Croydon Warehouse. Published in Love Bites.
Photos
Script Excerpt
Elaine: Surely there must be one.
Linda: I wouldn’t count on it.
Bren: No chance, lovey, they’re all bastards.
Elaine: Surely not all of ’em, Bren? Every single one?
Bren: In my experience.
Linda: And if anyone’s got experience …
Bren: Yeh yeh, more men than you’ve had … silken hair tones.
Linda: Just a glutton for punishment, right?
Elaine: But look Bren, twelve different signs, all the different aspects. Are you saying there isn’t one decent man in there somewhere?
Bren: Linda, I thought this was just for decoration?
Linda: It is. It’s Elaine who’s the believer.
Bren: You can’t fool me. You’re on the slide, aren’t you.
Linda: The slide?
Bren: The slide into mysticism and superstition. It’s a sign of the times. It’s dog eat dog out there, so you retreat nto mumbo-jumbo in here.
Elaine: You’re the one who’s irrational. Not one decent bloke anywhere?
Bren: Not in the real world, Elaine. Not by definition.
Elaine: How can you say that?
Linda: Easy. She just opens her mouth.
Elaine: There’s gotta be one in there somewhere. Tall, dark, handsome…
Bren: Nice bum…
Elaine: … stinkin rich…
Bren: Nice bum…
Elaine: … don’t tell me there’s not one decent bloke in there somewhere.
Bren: This stuff might work in the mags, Elaine…
(Hearing Linda approach, she speaks deliberately louder.)
Bren: … but in my experience, all men are bastards.
(Linda enters, in overalls but wearing heels. She sets down two pots of water.)
Linda: An’ if anyone’s had experience…
Bren: Yeh yeh, more men than you’ve had ‘silken hair tones’.
Linda: Blimey, what’s got into you today?
Ed: (Off) LINDAH !!
Linda: Comin’, my love.
(She trots off. Elaine looks at Bren, waiting for a reaction.)
Bren: “Thinks ’is body every self” my gran used to say. – The deal was, do up a house, sell it an’ start a family. ’Cept every Sunday he’s off to another “big match”, an’ who’s left graftin all weekend? The muggins of the species. She’ll never get that baby.
Elaine: Anyway, a house is a home, not just a ‘property’.
Bren: An’ we know who’ll spend all her time up the property ladder…