A Dream of Castles and Crocodiles

Our scene opens with 4 friends standing outside a door. The door is at street level, in central Wellington. It is night time, and a cool wind blows, catching scarves and coats in a playful way. Our 4 heroes are myself, Debbie, my brother Adam, and a fourth person who is anonymous – an amorphous presence defined only as a friend. There is a student with us, a third former who we are babysitting. She runs off into town to find friends, and none of us are particularly concerned. We’re happier without her around to cramp our style.

We open the door, which leads onto a long, narrow stairway going down below street level. The stairs go down for 3 or 4 stories, where a landing can be seen dimly. We walk down, all bustle and excitement, into the basement building. It is a theatre – a grand old theatre, with proscenium arch, fade red velvet curtains, and steeply angled seating. As we push through the curtained doorway into the theatre, I look around. There are a few people seated in the gloomy auditorium, facing the stage. We sit in the front row, eager for the show.

On the stage, there is a large draped curtain of thin, cream coloured cloth. Behind this there are powerful lights. In the centre of the stage is a huge model castle – at least 8 feet high, and about 12 feet wide. There is a black buttress across the front of the stage. I realise that this is to be a shadow-puppet show, obviously set around a castle. The lights dim, and the show starts.

There are forces inside the castle – manly voices, shadow silhouettes patrolling the walls of the castle. They are cheerful and brave, waving swords about and talking of the massive stores of ale they have in preparation for the oncoming winter.

A horn sounds, and a group of shadow puppets march toward the castle. There is shouting from this marauding group, and the waving of cleverly lit flaming torches. The people inside the castle are confidant that they are safe, that none could breach their walls. The marauders throw flaming torches over the walls, and a light show begins from behind the curtain, reds and oranges flickering above the model. The shadow puppets bombard the gates of the castle, shouting, jeering, and there is a great crashing sound. Battle ensues, with shadow raiders and shadow castle-folk fighting sword on sword and hand to hand. The theatre is filled with the din of their battle.

Then it subsides, and the lights fade a little. Two stagehands come out into the auditorium and ask us to stand. They lead us to a side door of the stage, and around to a chamber behind the stage. Inside, back to the stage, there is a set of a castle hall interior. It is as if we have walked around the model and are seeing it from the other side, life-size. There is log seating for us along one side of the chamber. There is a massive table running the length of the hall, and gathered around this are actors in Viking and Celtic costumes. They are laughing and drinking, quaffing ale and feasting. The play continues.

The leader of the Vikings congratulates the leader of the Celts. He raises a frothy mug of ale, and drinks to his foe. The battle was long and bloody, and they are now negotiating a cessation of hostilities. One side will leave the castle, without further bloodshed. They are now discussing who that will be.

As a sign of camaraderie, there is an 8 foot long crocodile pipe to be shared. It is a dead, stuffed crocodile, with a huge bowl in its mouth for the ‘herbs of peace’ to be placed in. To smoke it, the Viking leader sucks through its tail in mighty breaths. The crocodile is then passed around the table, large burly actors standing and puffing on its tail.

The audience is encouraged to cheer and yell, as the actors insult each other’s lineage and quaff more ale. Arm-wrestling and other manly pursuits are being indulged in. An audience member is dragged to the table, and a mug of ale is thrust into his hand. He joins in the quaffing and carousing. There are Celts and Vikings having ‘battles of wit’, where they make ye olde ‘your momma’ comments at each other, each trying to best the other with humour. The outcomes of these obviously impromptu face-offs sway the balance of which group will stay in the castle. It is a nightly ritual which the cast participates in, some of the insults being scripted to start with, but rapidly becoming a genuine insult-a-thon. The audience member ways in with some slurred and not so coherent jibes, and the atmosphere is highly festive. There is a sense among the audience members that they are at a party, watching friends score points off each other. We suspect that the actors are getting very drunk, and that after the show things will end up as a big drunken hullabaloo, with the audience invited.

Our merry scene ends in a warm glow of manly men being silly, a festive audience feeling a great sense of spontaneity and inclusion, and with a final sweeping view of the intricate set and costumes which decorate the room.