Raised in Captivity - Nicky Silver

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      “Funny, imaginative and possessed of a furious energy that makes it spin like a top, go off in all directions like a Catherine Wheel and leave you gasping for breath.... You escape from its nonsensical brilliance to the slightly less demented real world with a sense of relief, only to find that many of its clouds have a Nicky Silver lining”—John Simon, New York

      “Raised in Captivity is about guilt, redemption and self-punishment, and against all odds, it is also very funny....[Mr. Silver has created a theatrical world as mannered and self-contained as that of Oscar Wilde. But it goes way beyond the reflexive, knowing irony common to hip American comedy today. There is an anguished heart beneath all that artifice.... There are elements that recall John Guare, Spalding Gray and particularly Christopher Durang. But the total effect is of a strong, wonderfully idiosyncratic voice that has come firmly into its own.... [Silver’s] dialogue has the shimmer of an opal. And it has been paced with the surest rhythms of any playwright since David Mamet....Archly absurdist comedies come cheap these days. Finding one with depth of feeling is truly a cause to celebrate.”

      —Ben Brantley, New York Times

      “No doubt about it. Nicky Silver is an original playwright, a quirky, offbeat writer with a distinctive voice....Out of high-strung troubles, Silver builds a play about love and the desperate attempts people make to find it. The playwright’s language is fast, funny and, when you least expect it, poignant.”

      —Michael Kuchwara, Associated Press

      “By a mile, the best new play of the season.... The world according to Nicky Silver is farcically deranged. On the brittle surface of things, his wit possesses the unexpected rhythm and artifice of Noel Coward. But what’s going on beneath the dazzling pace and comedy is closer to the subversive social satires of the late Joe Orton, and Mr. Silver is the only American dramatist I know who merits the lofty tribute, though his loopy, original voice is very much his own.”.

      —John Heilpern, New York Observer

      Copyright © 1995 by Nicky Silver

      Raised in Captivity is published by Theatre Communications Group, Inc., 520 Eighth Avenue, 24th Floor, New York, NY 10018-4156.

      All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

      Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that this material, being fully protected under the Copyright Laws of the United States of America and all other countries of the Berne and Universal Copyright Conventions, is subject to a royalty. All rights including, but not limited to, professional, amateur, recording, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio and television broadcasting, and the rights of translation into foreign languages are expressly reserved. Particular emphasis is placed on the question of readings and all uses of this book by educational institutions, permission for which must be secured from the author’s representative: George P. Lane, Creative Artists Agency, 162 Fifth Avenue, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10010, (212) 277-9000.

      This publication is made possible in part with public funds from the New York State Council on the Arts, a State Agency.

      TCG books are exclusively distributed to the book trade by Consortium Book Sales and Distribution, 1045 Westgate Drive, St. Paul, MN 55114.

      CIP data information is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

      eISBN 9781559361132

      Cover art and design by Chip Kidd

      Book design and composition by Lisa Govan

      First Edition, November 1995

      Third Printing, February 2006

      INTRODUCTION

      I’ve been thinking for a while about what I want to say in this introduction. My first instinct was to have someone write it for me. Some classy high-flown literary figure who might drone on and on about my extravagant talent and my important place in today’s theatrical landscape. I went through my address book, hoping to come up with someone who could be trusted to praise me and not tell dirty little anecdotes. Naturally, given my circle of friends, I came up empty. Next, I looked through my shelves. I was quite taken with the introduction André Bishop wrote for Jon Robin Baitz’s play The Substance of Fire. Now I know Mr. Bishop and I considered—okay, okay, okay. I don’t really know Mr. Bishop. I’ve met him a couple of times, at parties and whatnot, but that’s all. So I didn’t really feel comfortable ringing him up and asking him. My next idea was, let’s just reprint the introduction from Substance of Fire! I thought this was genius! That play was also published by TCG (the publisher of this edition), so they own the copyright! It seemed obvious! Just reprint that intro and suggest to readers that they simply replace the name Jon Robin Baitz with my own each time they come to it. Well, the management of TCG was less than enthusiastic. (My suggestion to make this a pop-up book was greeted with even less delight.)

      So I’ve decided instead to use this space to give you a brief history of the play. I hope this will be interesting to you. If it’s not just skip ahead to the list of thanks at the end. I’ll try to get the publishers to leave a little space before that so you can spot it. Of course there’s no reason that should be interesting to you either, as you’ll probably recognize very few, if any, names on the list—but please read it anyway. It’s not that long, and I’d consider it a personal favor.

      A little more than a year ago, I had a play running called Pterodactyls. It was very well reviewed (thank God!), lots of famous people came to see it and, lo and behold, I had, as they say, arrived. To prevent myself from enjoying even a moment of this tiny success for which I’d worked my whole life, I sat in my room and wrote a new play. If there is a way to drain the fun from life, trust me, I’ll find it.

      I was working on that with my therapist when she left the country abruptly, never to return. I was out of town at the time, directing a play in Washington. She was a small woman both in stature and spirit. I would often catch her dozing when she should’ve been listening. She had very little fashion sense and was often tardy. Her English was not up to par, which, I assume, accounted for the often quizzical expression. But she was my doctor! Well, one day there was a message on my machine! I swear to God! A single message informed me that Dr. Lanier had retired to South America and would not be returning! Was I bitter? You bet! I pour my heart out to that contemptible little—where was I? Oh yes. Writing Raised in Captivity.

      I was saying, I worked all day and then at night I would go to the theatre to watch the curtain call. It’s never been a great pleasure of mine to sit with an audience watching something I’ve written. Invariably the person next to me figures out I’m the author (I guess it’s the copious notes I take that give me away), and suddenly their behavior becomes strained and unnatural. I have even found myself, on occasion, being hugged, by strangers! This is not pleasant. So when I watch my plays I try to watch from the lighting booth, where I feel safe. And when I’m not watching them, I’m writing a new one.

      After I’d finished the play, I came to the question of title. I called my new play Three Tall Women—so you can imagine my chagrin when I was forced to change it. Mind you, my work had no amazon trio—but I knew that title was a moneymaker, and history has proved me right. Shortly after that I changed agents, but that’s an ugly story which bears no retelling. In no time flat all kinds of theatres were interested in what was now called Raised in Captivity. This was shocking to me. You see in my pre-Pterodactyls days, I couldn’t get arrested. That’s a euphemism. I could, of course, get arrested and had on several occasions. (I still insist the money was a gift—but it’s my word against his.)

      I agonized over where to do the play. I allowed myself to be bribed and cajoled with fancy cars and jewelry.

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