Blood brother script download

There were minimal props, a minimal set and no scenery. Nor was there any music. I'd had the idea of Blood Brothers for years but had never got around to writing it so I took this chance. We had no trickery or theatre technology to hide behind. We had a good story and we had to tell it and grab the most difficult audience in the world.

From this beginning the play developed until now it is translated into at least ten languages and is performed regularly all over the world. A story that came out of the blue The story sounds as if it is a Greek myth but there is no existing story, as far as I know, about twins secretly parted who then end up killed on the day they learn the truth about themselves.

It just came out of the blue. The whole story was there. I left school with two things: English Language O-level and the conviction that I would never work in a factory. At the back of my mind was the notion that I could be a writer.

The performing started one night in The Spinners Club where they used to have a floor spot for anyone to perform their own songs. Unbeknownst to me, my mate had put me down and the next thing I knew I was up on stage singing a song I had written about the Kirkby Estate. It was an out-of-the-body experience. On one level I could feel my knees knocking and on another level I could hear gales of laughter.

So the comic song I had written was working. I loved it — not the fact that I had performed well but that the song I had written had been a success. The next week I was there with seven more songs. The life that lets you stay younger longer Willy Russell carried on like this for a number of years writing in the hairdressing shop when things were slack and gradually becoming aware of other influences.

He read more widely and mixed with students until Annie, a student friend who later became his wife, suggested he should take English Literature O-level. Willy realised that at one subject a year he would never make it so he left hairdressing and spent a year studying for O- and A-levels so that he could go to college. I really had no idea about student life. So I worked at it and made it. He is, however, prepared to explore some of his early influences. Why, for example, should a man who grew up in working-class Liverpool, notorious as a male-dominated society, write so effectively about women who have dignity, strength and the resilience to fight off the sexism of a male-dominated society?

But I would be deluding myself if I thought it was only that. I have never wanted to write autobiography in my plays yet when I look at Educating Rita I see that it is glaringly autobiographical. Maybe I chose to work through women because I wanted to get to the truth about myself rather than the facts of the matter. Remember I wrote Shirley Valentine when I was approaching forty.

If you look at some of the things Shirley Valentine addresses they were the things I was concerned with. Having said all that I think it cannot be denied that as a child I was deeply influenced by women.

I was brought up on an estate of houses that had been put up during the war to house munitions workers. Both my aunts and my grandmother lived within yards of my mother.

I think that when you are a toddler, women tend to be unguarded. Brought up to see both sides of the question Blood Brothers is based upon the premise that the class you belong to will, to a large extent, determine your life chances.

Willy Russell accepts that belonging to the working class does not inevitably lead to socialism — otherwise how could you explain working-class Tories or racists — but he is clear about the pressures on members of his class and the influence of his parents. I was brought up as a member of a class whose members were treated like second-class citizens. I was aware from a very early age of the injustice of it. We were the ones who went into the mines and factories, who did the manual labour, whose sensitivities were blunted, whose intelligence was never acknowledged.

I lived in an environment where we were told every day of our lives that we were thick, daft, stupid and unworthy. My father had been a miner and then worked for ICI. He was not a party member or a tub-thumping socialist but he was very firmly on the side of the underdog.

My dad gravitated towards interesting talkers and he liked nothing better on a Saturday night than to have a heated discussion with three or four people on politics or religion. He was part of that socialist tradition. At eighteen he went to night school because he knew he had never learned much at school and in fact he became a very good mathematician. In his situation you knew that people of lesser intelligence, humanity and sensitivity would be controlling your life.

My mother was slightly different. She had a great natural sympathy and aspirations. She liked nice things, delicate things which my father distrusted. She realised that refinement and taste had nothing to do with class whereas my father thought they were posh or bourgeois.

Both my parents were passionately opposed to mob culture or mob thought. They could never stand unquestioning groups of people and I was brought up to see both sides of a question. Tea or champagne In Willy Russell left hairdressing to work for a year in the warehouse of a factory to raise money for college.

Here he saw the class divide at its most pernicious. He worked a forty-hour week in a room with the windows painted black so that the workers would not be distracted.

He recalls that every day as the workers took a ten-minute tea break the managing director and his associates would be served champagne with crystal glasses on a silver tray. And back in the factory we would treat each other brutally. The foreman, himself a member of the working class, behaved like an animal because he had a little bit of power and he wanted to satisfy the people over there with the champagne.

And we taunted each other in a vicious way. I thought I'd left animalistic behaviour behind me in the playground but it was there lurking in us. Capable of extreme violence Willy Russell was not an aggressive child but he liked rough- and-tumble in the playground and team games.

In view of the many references to guns in Blood Brothers and to the bloody fatal outcome it is interesting to note Willy Russell's attitude to toy guns. All right there are a lot of guns in Blood Brothers but they are only make-believe except for the gun Sammy brings in and the guns of the police at the end. And remember there is a fantasy where the whole thing escalates from a cowboy drawing a bead on a rival to a professor letting off an atom bomb.

I would go further and say that this mimetic acting out of aggression with symbolic weaponry has a beneficial effect on society. At least I would need hard evidence that banning toy guns would serve any useful purpose.

I accept that children are capable of extreme violence and are potentially brutal but it is how society deals with this that is crucial. I am just not convinced that banning toy guns will do anything towards curbing this aggression in children. The effortless process that can be agony Willy Russell has used words like torture, agony, terror and sleepless nights when describing the writing process but he is careful not to overdo what he sees as irrelevant to an audience.

It is of no interest to them that he may have struggled to create an effect. Jane will make a cup of tea and we will go over the outstanding phone calls and have a look through the mail.

We deal with urgent letters, then I'll ask her to fillet all the phone calls leaving only those from my immediate family or my agent, and then I go up to the attic where I work, switch on the word-processor and pick up where I left off the previous evening.

And then I switch off. I will keep this routine up until I have finished a piece of work. This might last for six months but once the work is done then I can relax and go on holiday. I get terribly frustrated if I have to take a break with something unfinished. The story sent shivers up my spine Blood Brothers evolved for about eight years before Willy Russell was ready to commit himself to it.

Plays like Shirley Valentine and Educating Rita start with a character and the plot follows but with Blood Brothers the whole story was there and the characters had to be invented to inhabit the story.

The story itself sent shivers up my spine so I worried about getting it wrong but, after the shortened version without music, I knew I was ready for the full length musical version. I always envisioned the children being played by adults. Bob Swash produced the play for the Liverpool Playhouse with Chris Bond, himself a writer, as director. Chris tended to be over-reverential with the text. The business of show business Willy Russell is clear that show business is a business and that he has a superb agent in Tom Erhardt.

These things have to be managed. I feel very honoured and slightly awed by the success of Blood Brothers. I get lots of invitations from directors who want me to see their production and although that is very flattering I am conscious that I have watched the play thousands of times so it is difficult for me to be captivated by it. The last time I saw it in New York I kept looking for flaws and ways to improve it. Leave it alone. Meanwhile, all over the world audiences are being asked the question And do we blame superstition for what came to pass?

Or could it be what we, the English, have come to know as class? The whole play should flow along easily and smoothly, with no cumbersome scene changes. Two areas are semi-permanent — the Lyons house and the Johnstone house. The area between the two houses acts as communal ground for street scenes, park scenes etc. As like each other as two new pins, Of one womb bom, on the self same day, How one was kept and one given away?

The scene fades. Then bring her on and come judge for yourselves How she came to play this part. She is aged thirty but looks more like fifty. My husband wouldn't go. Get lost will ya.

With a wife he said was twice the size of Marilyn Monroe. No more dancing. By the time I was twenty-five. I looked like forty-two. With seven hungry mouths to feed. And one more nearly due. Me husband, he walked out on me. A month or two ago. For a girl they say who looks a bit like Marilyn Monroe. And they go dancing.

They go dancing. Yes, they go dancing,. Hello Mrs. How are you? Anything wrong? I had it all worked out. With one more baby we could have managed. But not with two, the welfare have already been on to me.

You're expecting twins? How quickly an idea, planted, can. Take root and grow into a plan. The thought conceived in this very room. Grew as surely as a seed, in a mother's womb. Give one of them to me. Please, Mrs. Are ya Each day I look out from this window. I see him with his friends, I hear him call,. I rush down but as I fold by arms around him. He's gone. Was he ever there at all? I've dreamed of all the places I would take him.

The games we'd play, the stories I would tell. The jokes we'd share, the clothing I would make him. I reach out, but as I do, he fades away. If my child was raised in a palace like this one. He wouldn't have to worry where.

His next meal was comin' from. His clothing would be supplied by George Henry Lee. He'd have all his own toys. And a garden to play in.

He could make too much noise. Without the neigbors complainin'. Silver trays to take meals on. A bike with both wheels on? And he'd sleep every night. In a bed of his own. He wouldn't get into fights. He'd leave matches alone. And you'd never find him. Effin' and blindin'. And when he grew up. He could never be told. To stand and queue up. For hours on end at the dole. He'd grow up to be.

A credit to me. I would still be able to see him everyday,. An' you would look after him,. Wouldn't y'? I'd keep him warm in the Winter. And cool when it shines. I'd pull out his splinters. Without making him cry. I'd always be there. If his dream became a nightmare.

In the name of Jesus, the thing was done,. Now there's no going back, for anyone,. It's too late now for feeling torn. There's a pack been sealed. There's a deal been born. Only mine until. The time comes round. To pay the bill. Then I'm afraid. What can't be paid. Must be returned.

You never, ever learn. That nothing's yours. On easy terms. Only for a time,. I must not learn. To call you mine. That face those eyes.

Make future plans. That cannot be confirmed. On borrowed time. Living on the never never,. Constant as the changing weather,. Who's at the door. Or the price I'll have to pay. Should we meet again. I will not recongize your name. You can be sure. What's gone before. Will be concealed. Your friends will never learn. That once we were. Or the price I'll have to pay They're born, you didn't notify me.

Couldn't I keep them for a few more days,. They're a pair, they go together. My husband is due back tomorrow, Mrs. I must have my baby. We made an agreement,. A bargain. You swore on the bible. You'd better see which one you wan. I'll take Don't tell me which one. Just take him,. Just take him. Living on the never never. Should we meet again How swiftly those who've made a pact.

Can come to overlook the fact. Or wish the reckoning be delayed. But a debt is a debt, and must be paid. You do know what they say about twins,. Secretly parted, don't you? They say that if either twin learns that he was. One of a pair, they shall both immediately die. It means, Mrs.

Johnstone, that these brothers. Shall grow up, unaware of the other's existence. They shall be raised apart and. Never, ever told what was once the truth.. You won't tell anyone about this, Mrs. Because if you do, you will kill them. Shoes upon the table. An' a spider's been killed. Someone broke the lookin' glass. A full moon shinin'.

An' the salt's been spilled. You're walking on the pavement cracks. Don't know what's gonna come to pass. Now y'know the devil's got your number. Y'know he's gonna find you. Y'know he's right behind you.

He's starin' through your windows. He's creeping down the hall. Ain't no point in clutching. At your rosary. You're always gonna know what was done. Even when you shut your eyes you still see. That you sold a son. And you can't tell anyone. But y'know the devil's got your number.

He's standin' on your step. And he's knocking at your door. He's knocking at your door. What's your name? Michael Johnstone. But everyone calls me Mickey. What's yours? Edward Lyons. D' they call y' Eddie? Well, I will. How old are y' Eddie? I'm older than you. I'm nearly eight. Well, I'm nearly eight, really. When's your birthday? July the eighteenth. Is it really? Eh, we were born on the same day -- that means we can be blood brothers.

Do you wanna be my blood brother, Eddie? Yes, please. I got ya. I shot ya. And ya bloody know I did. I stopped it with the bin lid. Bin lid -- but.

You know that if you cross your fingers. And if you can count from one. You can get up off the ground again. It doesn't matter. The whole thing's just a game. What are we going to play now? My name is Elliot Ness. And lady here's my card. I'm looking for one Al Capone. Mac, check the back. Sarge, you check the yard! But pal, I've told y'Al ain't home! Oh, yeh. Bang, bang, bang. So, lady, can I use your telephone?

But you know that if you cross your fingers. And if you count from one to ten. When I say, "Draw! You'd better grab that gun. And maybe say a little prayer. Cos I'm the fastest draw. That man, you ever saw. Call up your woman. Say goodbye to her. Cos ya know you're goin' right down there. It doesn't matter, the whole thing's just a.

My name's Professor Howe,. An' zees bomb I 'old,. Eet can destroy ze 'emisphere,. I've primed it, I've timed it.

Unless you let me out of here. Then I suggest you cover your ears. You can get up off the ground again,. It doesn't matter,. Y' comin' out? My mum says I haven't got to play with you.

Well, my mum says I haven't got to play with. But take no notice of mothers. They're soft. Come on, I've got Linda with me. She's a girl, but she's alright. Edward, Edward, Edward There's gypsies in the wood. And they've been watchin' you. They wanna take your baby away,. There's gypsies in the wood,. And they've been calling you. Can Edward please come out and play. Please can he come with us and play? Ya know the devil's got your number. Ya know he's gonna find you,.

Ya know he's right behind ya. He's starin' through your windows,. He's creepin' down the hall. No kids out on the street today.

You could be living on the moon. Maybe everybody's packed their bags. And moved away. Gonna be a long, long, long. Sunday afternoon. Just killing time and kicking cans around.

Try to remember jokes I knew,. I tell 'em to myself,. But they're not funny since I found. It's gonna be a long, long, long. My best friend. Always had sweets to share,. Knew every word in the dictionary. He was clean, neat and tidy. From Monday to Friday,. I wish that I could be like.

Wear clean clothes, talk properly like. Do sums and history like. He could swear like a soldier. You would laugh till you died. At the stories he told ya. He was untidy. From Monday to Friday. Kick a ball and climb a tree like. Run around with dirty knees like. Feels like everybody stayed in bed. Or maybe I woke too soon. Am I the last survivor? Is everybody dead? On this long, long, long. Oh, bright new day,. We're movin' away. We're startin' all over again.

Bright new day. We're going away. Where nobody's heard of our name. Moving away -- from here? Where we can begin again,. Feel we can win and then. Live just like livin' should be. Got a new situation,. A new destination. And no reputation following me.

Linda we're movin' We're getting out. We're movin' house. We're starting all over again. Yabba dabba do! We're leavin' this mess. For our new address. Is that in the country, mother?

What's it like there? The air is so pure. You get drunk just by breathing,. We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in Blood Brothers may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them.

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