*


SUPERINTENDENT: Let’s get it down, word for word.

CONSTABLE sits to write.

SUPERINTENDENT: He said: ‘Come along now, my lad…’

CONSTABLE: (As he writes) ‘Come along now, my lad.’

SUPERINTENDENT: ‘Don’t take it like that.’

MANIAC: And then we began to sing.

CONSTABLE: ‘And then we began to…’ Sing?

PISSANI: What?

MANIAC: You began to sing. All of you.

SUPERINTENDENT: Sing?

MANIAC: Of course. Doesn’t it make sense? Having created such a cosy atmosphere what else would you do but engage yourselves in four-part harmony?

SUPERINTENDENT: Your Honour, we can’t possibly go along with this.

MANIAC: Then don’t. I wash my hands of you! There’s the window. It’s the only viable alternative. First you cook up one story, then you cook up another, and neither of you can agree on either one and both are masterpieces of incompetence. Who believes anything you say? No one. Why? Because besides being evident garbage your stories lack the tiniest vestige of humanity. No warmth. No laughter. No pain. No remorse. SING! (Guitars) For God’s sake. Show a human heart beating beyond the sordid tangle of lies you have left in your wake. Before it is too late, give the public something to believe in. SING! (Cast begins to sing) Sing and they may forgive the superficial facts. Three tortured human souls, albeit they are policemen, singing their suspect’s song with him to cheer him through his darkest hour. The song of anarchy itself. ‘Our homeland is the whole world. Our law is liberty. We have but one thought, revolution in our hearts.’


Dario Fo, Accidental Death of an Anarchist.



*


From Fo’s Postscript:

“But what has been the real reason for the show’s success? It is not so much the way it mocks the hypocrisies, the lies that are organized so grossly and blatantly (which is putting it mildly) by the constituted organs of the State and by the functionaries who serve them (judges, police chiefs, prefects, undersecretaries and ministers); it has been above all the way it deals with social democracy and its crocodile tears, the indignation which can be relieved by a little burp in the form of scandal; scandal as a liberating catharsis of the system. A burp which liberates itself precisely through the scandal that explodes, when it is discovered that massacres, giant frauds and murders are undertaken by the organs of power, but that at the same time, from within the powers-that-be, other organs, perhaps pushed by an enraged public opinion, denounce and unmask them…

“Our immediate intention was to make it clear that the State massacre is continuing relentlessly, and that it remains motivated by the same people. The same people who have kept Valpreda and his comrades in prison in the hope that they will die; the same people who have beaten a young man in the streets of Pisa and then in prison and finally killed him; the same ones who are behind a revolutionary militant getting stabbed in Parma —— not just an ‘anti-fascist youth,’ as the revisionists are claiming. The same people who are preparing for an Autumn of reaction and violence, preceding it with blackmail against the movement, against all those who are not willing to bow their heads.

“But unluckily for the, they will have to realise that there are a lot of us… and that this time their burp is going to stick in their throats.”