Jelinek Snow White

8/12/2019 Jelinek Snow White

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Sabine Hollweck

as Snow White,

directed by Andr

Bastian, .

Courtesy of Theater

in der Tonne


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39

Elfriede Jelinek

Translated by Gitta Honegger

Snow White

Copyright by Elfriede Jelinek. English t ranslation copyright by Gitta Honegger. All rights reserved. No

part of this play may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, and information storage and retrieval systems, without permission from the author.

CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that, being fully protected under the copyright laws of

the United States of America, the British Commonwealth, including the Dominion of Canada, and all other countries of

the Copyright Union, this play is subject to royalty. All ri ghts, including professional, amateur, motion picture, recitation,

lecturing, public reading, radio and television broadcasting, and translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved.

Particular emphasis is la id on the questions of readings, permission for which must be secured from the authors publisher:

Sabine Oswald, Berlin Verlag, Greifswalder Strasse , Berlin, Germany.

Two giant, stuffed monster dolls, made of knitted

wool, one , the other a

with hat and gun, are talking quietly to each

other. The voices are coming from offstage and are

slightly distorted.

I have been walking forever

around every possible bend and turn in the

forest and what am I not finding? Dwarfs!

They say dwarfs are pleasant like us, but

different in shape. Whereas, you, sir, look

like someone with a shape close to mine,but rather unpleasant. Perhaps its all those

responsibilities you have. It certainly is a lot

of work clearing all that Being and cutting

to the chase. I represent the lighter side. For

a long time I was successful because of my

looks, then, as I was zealously looking for

more success, I stepped into my stepmothers

trap who grabbed me from an angle I didnt

expect and soon after poisoned me with fruit.

She dug a hole for someone else and didnt fall

into her own trap. Since then I have become

a seeker of truth, also in linguistic matters.

All of that seems to be of enormous interest

to the public, as my story has been around

for hundreds of years, I have no idea whats

supposed to be so funny or exciting about it.

Its as if I had to constantly lift myself up and

fall down again, felled by another woman.

A pleasant exception, which death is not.He always keeps coming, usually as a man

and then it turns out thats not what he is.

He stalks us, arrives uncalled for, and just

as we become successful, as in my case, he

doesnt let us enjoy it, but takes us off the field

without offering any comfort.


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jelinek

Could it be that you are leading

yourself astray? May I suggest that you give

up being your own sole refuge so that you

wont miss the truth, which has been looking

for you all this time, which I found in the

forest severa l times, a helpless figure and

also in the shape of hidden graves for man

and beasts. The animal graves are not my

doing, as I always take my kill with me.

Its too good for the earth. Since you dont

feed the truth with things you found and

you dont have any experience in collecting

kills, because you are the kill, it follows

that the truth will be running from you the

first chance it gets. I simply dont believe

your version of the story, my dear. There isno detour anywhere for truth to avoid you.

Just put yourself in truths place: she would

have to think she is blinded by the lights of a

truck, confronted suddenly by a woman like

you, not to speak of your clothes that much

I understand about fashion completely

unsuited for the forest. Now, that woman is

questioning truth about one or more people,

who are wearing hats which, in my opinion,

no one else would ever want to put on. What

a sight that would be! Take a look at my hatinstead, thats what you and your missing

persons should wear! With those beautiful

gurnard feathers on top super wouldnt

you say? Never anything pointed, please!

With their short bodies, did they think they

would look taller with those things on their

heads! High heels, special insoles, teased,

resurfaced haircuts! No wonder truth doesnt

want to identify with such creatures! Why

should truth want to appear as seven people,

when she cant even pass quietly as one? Even

though that would finally put an end to it all

and one could start telling fairy tales again?

Thats why she became so shy, after al l, with

everyone going after her.

And now you too are hanging out

around here. Let me tell you something: Your

beauty doesnt count much among those of

us who hike through the wilderness. Once

a week there is pair-skating practice on the

frozen lakes. Beauty and Truth are also

participating, so they can get to know each

other better. Why dont you join them, Miss?

Maybe you will find truth more appealing

than beauty? That would be a change for you

for once! One can slurp up beauty like an

experience, but then, clutching to the truth

so it wont slip on the ice, it will be gone. On

the other hand, seven persons for the truth

wouldnt be so bad, come to think of it, small

as it is, one should perhaps duplicate the

truth, so one can at least see it for once. In

any case it would hit you with its pointed cap.Ouch, yes: The truth as a coat rack spiked

with caps. And then this beauty who doesnt

want to put on any of those caps, so she wont

be ridiculous and thus her own enemy. Truth

as the madness of Being. You, Miss, are crazy,

by the way, if you think you are seeing me. I

am invisible. And if I were visible, I wouldnt

exist and you wouldnt be able to see me

either. So it doesnt matter whether or not you

recognize me. You were probably mistaken,

when you took me for the truth just becauseyou couldnt see me. Well, at any rate, I am

not part of your truths. You better take a

closer look at my hat, before you cant see me,

but nevertheless start a stupid conversation

with me! I am death, period. Death as the

ultimate truth. Seen that way, youd even be

right looking for me! I like that: Death as the

final truth, who for that reason doesnt want

to know anything about himself. But thats

not the case. Death exposed: The naked

animal and man carried away by its dumbness

so that at long last he would not have to know

anything about himself. Nonetheless, die

he must, even if he is unconscious already.

Death as the blindness to your nakedness.

But watch out! Not everything you cant see

is death, as I already explained. As far as I


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snow white

am concerned you will never know for sure.

A hunter certainly isnt a particularly original

disguise. I shiver when I see your blank-eyed

faith thats blind to boot. You shouldnt force

any of your little secrets on me, but I know

I cant stop you anyway. Do you think if one

could see death, anyone would put up with

him even if only for, lets say, the duration

of a dinner of unburied animals, to which

he would have had to contribute to begin

with? There you go. Stil l, thats not a reason

for me to want to have anything to do with

the truth. Certainly not. Truth cares about

nothing but itself. But at the moment theres

no better performer of it than myself. So Ill

have to go on playing it; I dont even knowwhether Im still playing. I havent wanted

to for a long time, but I have to. One, the

very last one, I kept as a model, all the other

truths before that didnt escape me and my

weapon. I was thorough. The last ones pretty

small. I still keep looking at her all the time

so I know who I am. About as small as your

little dwarfs are supposed to be. However, as

an autodidact I worked my way up with great

energy and diligence, and now I confidently

glide across life as on a frozen lake.

Oh, but life wants to be

admired and looked at from many sides, dont

you think so too? It is beautiful, isnt it? Nor

should trivialities ever be too small for us. If

I dont find the little things I am looking for,

I can also turn to the big stuff, which you

insist you embody. Whats bigger than death,

which aint no bargain, but a lousy deal. Even

if it tastes delicious, like a Granny Smith

apple. Inside, theres still the worm, making

his opening move, death stored in a safe,which he quietly eats his way through; thus

the core has been opened and shut all at once:

Beingitself, hello! Well, it certainly wasnt a

good deal! My guts are out of sync because of

rotten fruit. Like the key to my being, which

is rather high-strung. A pitiful fate, a mild

constipation. Then: Climb every mountain

as societys great mission, but unfortunately

most of the time there arent any mountains.

Here we have foothills at best, a threshold to

be crossed without getting hurt. I am now

filing a claim with Existential Insurance

and then I will request a search for missing

persons, because I was unconscious for such a

long time, and diagnosed by my stepmother

as dead and powerless. She was wrong.

Besides: No one misses power as much as the

one without it. Maybe thats why she wanted

to kill me. Because she knew I would rise

and instantly become the most power-hungry

creature; that is, I would claim all that stuffshe loves to pile up around her. All junk! So

suddenly theres this doozy coming on the

scene, not nearly as pretty as I, quite a bit

older than I, which, I am sure, annoys her

even in her dreams, wanting to rob me of

my being! She thinks that beauty will come

to her because it finds a corpse too boring.

Because beauty wants to stay in the world

forever, preferably in full color in all those

magazines one leafs through so quickly that

they lose their pages faster than a tree dropsits leaves. Mama cant come to terms with

the experience of powerlessness vis--vis my

beauty, so she just tried to wreck the resources

of my power with nothing but an apple.

An apple against apple cheeks! Imagine! A

battle of Titanias. Yet it would have been so

simple. Youd only have to stand in front of

me and my power would be gone, because

no one could see me! It wouldnt work with

dwarfs, because they are shorter than I am,

thats why, after my experience, I am looking

only for dwarfs and thats not easy, let

me tell you. And Ill be happy to lie down

for the dwarfs, so that they too can have

their ego moments. And if its just to annoy

stepmommy, who in questions regarding


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jelinek

the unknown set up a ranking system as to

who can exist and who cant. She can. I cant.

Because of too much beauty and her fear

of competition. The dwarfs can, but only

because she never saw them. Nevertheless, she

warned me about them!

Well, you wont find them around

me, your little dwarfs. I am in charge of

clearing, not of the complications that might

come up in the process. . . . Of course I

notice when something blocks my clearing,

a corner, a set of beings in animal shape, and

let me assure you, I wouldnt be so hot for

the second set; its my gun, it always huffs

and puffs and drips and pants. No, the other

way around. Id rather preserve and keep my

clearing inside myself, like a Tupperware

bowl. Thats why I became a hunter. Thats

why I am not interested in that Dwarf Truth,

whom you are looking for here at the edge

of the woods, of all places. I am the Giant

Untruth. I extinguish everything that exists

with my comprehensive extinction plan. I

did, however, apprentice with the truth and

therefore, in an emergency, I can perform it

too. So that you and even I myself will believe

that I am the truth. The last one thats still

on the market. The circumstances of my life:

Holed up in a hide egging myself on to

cut to the chaste, framing the game from an

enframing, a few big guns like myself, shoot.

Games over. All processed into food. All in

due process. No judge necessary. The only

one who does not have to fear the judge is

death. I am always on the road and always

legally, even if I enjoy speeding sometimes to

get to the river of death, which I cross with

my knickerbockered legs.

Then tell me: Why is it that I

still am and I am not nothing, as it was the

plan of my stepmother? Bombing me back

to my origin by means of an apple? I think

that is because I had no other alternative but

to be just me, just for mysel f. My stepmother

always wanted to be for others, through her

beauty, which she kept mirroring all the time,

as if she came in twos at the least. My being

was a sore in her eye, which only wanted to

look at herself. The mirror wasnt the Why.

It was the What. It was the What Else Do

You All Want? Because I was also reflected in

the mirror, I was there, even before her. The

ranking order of beauty was: Snow White

first, stepmother always second. The mirror

opened like a closet, it threw its double doors

wide open and wondered what got into it.

Me! Always first! Glowing so gloriously that

you couldnt even see the old newspapers

on the bottom, with pictures, faded beforetheir time, of types like myself. One cant

be there and not be there at the same time.

Well, maybe you can, I cant. That posed a

lot of questions for the mirror and for mother

goose step, an entire catalog of questions with

pretty pictures, all of myself, did that make

her mad, let me tell you! A catalog, which also

contained the answer and the price for it. And

the questions escaped; screaming loudly, they

shook off their anklets and scattered all over.

Yes, sir. The questions of that woman, whomI should never call mama, aimed arrogantly

above my being, without the slightest

consideration for myself, into thin air. At least

she could have at least rolled out my being

and made good use of it as a rug. The castles

floors are pretty cold, you know. No way. I

had to be completely out of the way! Now at

least some thinking could have come in with

its thin little voice. Thats also a nice hobby; it

only takes a little wondering to get it started.

But why would any woman, so taken with

herself that she doesnt really need the mirror,

even though she consults it daily because

she knows she is the prettiest, why would

such a woman find it necessary to confront

the unknown? There you go. That woman

asks her mirror what cant be asked, takes


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snow white

the inexhaustible for abundance and stuffs it

into the answer about which she was certain

anyway without having thought about it. That

cake cant come out well. I could have told

her so right away. What was she thinking?

Poisoning me with an apple. There are more

pleasant ways to die, let me tell you, but not

a more original one. My way of dying wasnt

one at all. Is that the way to act, just killing

someone? However, I am not really dead, as

you can see. What can I tell you, you are the

expert! So back to the starting position. You

out! Dwarf in!

(aiming at her) A dwarf should be

allowed to do what I cant? Whatever it may

be? There is room for all in the forest, but

originally it was planned just for me and my

prey. I would even enjoy meeting such small

constructions, if I had a little more time. But

I dont have time and therefore I take the time

thats allotted to other creatures. I decide

when times over and I take what would

have been left to them. Thats usually used

up quickly, too. Death, you know, eats up

the time of others and therefore he is always

hungry. Ones own time is never enough, after

all. And the excursion on other peoples time

doesnt yield much either. Humans end up

completely humanized. By that I mean exactly

what you say about your stepmother. I have

the impression that what disturbs you most

about that woman, who tried to mess around

with my job, is that she seems to believe one

can have all the answers in advance and that

its possible to control reason with reason.

That would also get on my nerves if I had

any; it makes as little sense as a shopping

center that closes in the evening and still callsitself a shopping center at night.

(shielding her eyes with her hands)

Really, now! If you please! What is this thing

youve been holding up against me all this

time? A flashlight? Keep in mind that my

eyes are still weak, because I saw death in

its special edition, which I am sure you are

familiar with: as a brightly glowing tunnel. I

am still blinded from it. Cant you see how I

still have to squeeze my eyes! Please step to

the side! Maybe you have been blocking my

view for hours now of one or more of the little

people with whom I have an appointment. Or

are you just supposed to give me their address

and you are delaying the moment of our

farewell? Were you called here by my calling?

I only know: across the seven mountains.

People are so sloppy when they dictate

something over the phone. They never wait

Daniel Brockhaus

as the Hunter in

Snow White, directed

by Andr Bastian,

. Courtesy of

Theater in der Tonne


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jelinek

to find out whether one really got it. Besides I

would now prefer lying to sitting. I am quite

tired from the poison. My maliciousness

shall slumber. The people shall soften their

deeds a bit and reach their goals. At least they

shouldnt get restless if they have profound

questions. The unexplainable shall rest in its

ground of explanations until it gets kicked in

the ass by the advance of flowers from below.

Then it had better get up and enlighten us,

so we finally get a picture of what is. There.

That would be the end of my wish list. Beauty

can dress itself in modesty. If one can move

about freely, one has to immediately present

a picture of the way things are. Even if one

cant picture how big these things really are.Dwarfs are rather small. Nevertheless they

scorn my modesty. I heard they wanted no

less than the most beautiful woman in the

world, so that they would receive comfort and

give their unrestrained behavior in return,

on request, also outside the house, in the

meadow, where theyd hurry towards me,

their members exposed, and theyd pounce on

me, all at once. If only they knew how often I

had to hear that! Thats what my stepmother

had thought up for me! For years she tried toscare me with that story! She claimed that

once the dwarfs got what they wanted, they

would be ungrateful, like all other beings.

Whats that glowing in the dark, the as-of-yet

undefined thing itself you are still holding up

to my face? That long, thin, shiny thing? And

how does one turn it off again?

I wouldnt necessarily call this a

flashlight. Rather, I use it to blow out the

light. There are creatures popping up in

the forest who think they produce a vitalintellectual life, but thats nothing to me. Not

an obstacle! On the local NASCAR tracks

its reason fighting the dog faith, who can

always roam around freely, yapping, yelping,

howling, snarling, slavering. Its a shame I

cant show you, but I dont have a hunting

dog; I dont need one. Well, those two are

at each others throat, the intelligent design

shop is open for business, there you can get

anything from shoelaces and shreds of prayer

to a piece of ground fifty centimeters by fifty,

its the ground for the nongrounding of truth,

its yours now, even if you would like to find

new grounds for your truth and reject mine,

although it is, as I said, the last specimen.

Well then, who is the winner in the fight

of commodity versus ground, faith versus

reason? THE ANIMAL. Which has won

the highest confirmation of its assumed rank,

until a stronger one comes along? The littlefire in the hearth of being is still glowing, in

the dusk of Sunday evening; a woman appears

as the weekly Sunday debacle, dressed in a

sort of nightgown, forgive me for not being

able to come up with a better description of

your garment, it doesnt matter anyhow, the

night permeates everything and I am bringing

it to you right now.

(He shoots . To the corpse:)

Have you also been one of those women,who only bring movie figures into the world,

because they want to look like them? Who

shy away from life? Shying away from death

didnt help you at all; he follows you under my

label. You were nothing but a girl who let her

naked foot be seen in the grass, which was

much too cold for it. You shouldnt walk in

the forest dressed for a coffin. In your case it

was practica l, though, you didnt even have to

change clothes. I dont care, as I said, I dont

know anything about ladies and the whims

of fashion. In any case, thats a kill I leave

behind. Time was all I took from her; that

had to be enough. In any event, it was the

most dangerous thing about her. Five minutes


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snow white

longer and she could have possibly talked me

into getting smaller than I am. Now she is

completely helpless, of course, because beauty,

on the other hand, fears nothing more than

time. No earth on top of her. It would be too

light.

Shoulders his gun and exits.

The enter and surround

.

Thats typical. There

she goes, dear girl. Yet she could have found

us easily, if she hadnt been holding her

trail map upside down all this t ime. What

this beauty took for valleys, were actual ly

mountains. Only goodness can move

mountains sometimes also faith only

beauty cant do that. She can miss the

mountains by many miles, even if there

are seven of them. The mountains were

where theyve always been, only beauty,

unfortunately, was in the wrong place. In any

case, all the work is left to us. We always have

to adopt a firm attitude and clean up the dirt

of others. Sometimes we think wed also like

to be dead, so that people could learn from

funny people like us that death isnt as funny

as they apparently imagined.

They put into the glass coffin and

carry her off.

End of play.

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Jelinek Snow White